


Nomadic Romantics

by ShadeOps21



Category: Tom Clancy's Ghost Recon, Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Cheating (does it count if all that’s left is to sign the paperwork?), F/M, Failing Marraige, Operation Kingslayer, Post Operation Archangel, References to PTSD, battlefield romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-07-04 03:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15832962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadeOps21/pseuds/ShadeOps21
Summary: Nomad’s wife, his high school sweetheart, is growing more and more distant with every mission and every deployment he goes on. His son resents him and doesn’t respect him, despite is own efforts to try and be there for him.Yet, despite it all, he tries to keep it all together, because his family is the only thing that keeps him fighting through the revenge mission that is Kingslayer. The thoughts of them keep him grounded, remind him of why he does the things he does.But after an impromptu mission with members of the elite counter-terrorism unit Rainbow in Bolivia... Nomad realises that he needs to find someone who can keep up with his pace...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> So, this is the result of days of non-stop Wildlands and Siege crossover talk with the guys over at Fuck Yeah CoD OCs (I’m looking at you, Smash and Aurelias... you know what you did...)
> 
> This is for you two, since you and your reactions to the snippets I sent you are driving this damn thing... you better bloody love this...
> 
> (All jokes aside, they’re awesome and amazing people in their own right.)

Anthony Perryman, better known as Nomad to everyone in the battalion, watched as the operators from Rainbow Six vacated the room with their person of interest and potential source of information in tow. He turned to look at Bowman, who was focused on the doorway herself, her face barely masking the contempt she held for the three special forces operatives.

“You threatened to render him,” Nomad stated plainly, fixing her with a flat stare through his dark sunglasses, “in front of his sister, who is more than likely just as violent and terrifying as some of Sueño’s best, and two of her colleagues, both of whom are just as well trained and just as capable as myself or any other Ghost that you know of.”

Karen turned and shot her own glare back at Nomad, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance, “I didn’t see you stepping in when we bagged Nidia. What makes right now any different?”

“The fact that Rainbow are our allies, perhaps?” Nomad fired back, “I get what you’re trying to do, but maybe have a little more consideration and think of the inter-agency cooperation next time. Rainbow is an international effort, and probably has access to more intelligence and resources than you and I can even begin to conceive.” He closed into until he was standing within a foot from Bowman, “All of that could’ve gone down the drain with your little stunt there.”

He didn’t give Bowman the chance to respond as he stepped away and out through the door of the safe house. Outside, he found the rest of his team out by one of the rebel’s ‘donated’ four wheel drives, talking with a couple of Katari’s soldiers. Across the small access road, he saw the van that he and the others had used to extract Pereira and the two operators from Rainbow that had joined them, Caveira and Twitch.

Said operators were with their third team member, a SEAL that went by the name of Valkyrie, as well as the man they had been tasked to rescue. The group of four were talking as Nomad approached, and noticed his arrival if the stolen glance by the French woman was any indication.

“Hey, about Bowman, I-” Noman began, but was cut off by Valkyrie’s raised hand.

“Don’t sweat it, dude,” she said with a relaxed shake of the head, “Spooks are spooks, we get what she was trying to do. Just rubbed us the wrong way that she did so in front of us.” The SEAL crossed her arms over her chest and leant back against the side of the van, “But that’s on her; not you and your team. From what these three have told me, you did quite the job on those guys.”

“When you’ve been fighting the cartel for as long as we have,” Nomad explained, “you tend to pick up on how they act and how they respond. Once we took out their main training cell up in the northern side of the region, most of their training and skills went down the toilet.”

Both Valkyrie and Twitch nodded in agreement and understanding, “That’s generally how it works: cut the head off the chicken, and it still moves around. But take off the wings and legs, then it’s got nowhere to go,” Valkyrie remarked with an easy going yet slightly cocky smirk. “You boys stay cool down here, alright?”

Nomad mirrored her smirk with one of his own, “We’re Army: we’re nothing but cool.”

“Not surprising with all that mud and crap you guys get yourself covered with,” the SEAL shot back.

“SEALs make movies, Ghosts write history.” Nomad returned, catching expressions of amusement on Twitch, Caveira and her brother. “When’re you headed back?”

“Well, this was all off the books as far as an actual extraction flight goes,” Twitch answered, shooting a pointed look at Caveira who at least had the decency to look a little sheepish… well, as sheepish as a woman wearing skull face paint could be, “so we’ll be hanging around while the excitement dies down before making our way back on a ‘chartered flight’.”

“Dare I ask, or am I better off not knowing?” Nomad asked with a knowing chuckle.

“I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough… come on you three, we’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us.” Valkyrie prompted, the group quickly bidding their respective farewells as they boarded the van and drove off into the distance.

Nomad watched until they were well out of sight, and was dragged back to reality by a nudge from his close friend, Corey Ward, better known as Weaver. “So… reckon she’s seeing anyone?”

Nomad rolled his eyes and nudged his friend back, “You’re a married man, Weave.”

“Not for much longer, at this rate,” Weaver shot back, referring to his slowly proceeding divorce. It was already dragging on prior to the team being sent to Bolivia. If anything, the operation was a welcome reprieve from the meetings with lawyers, heated arguments about possessions and other legal affairs that Weaver’s estranged wife was pulling him through. Him being off on the job meant that he was out of contact, and legally she couldn’t sign off on anything if he could be proven he was out of state. Sure, his actual location and reason behind why was classified to the highest level of secrecy, but it was still on file that he was deployed.

“I don’t think someone like Twitch would be interested in someone like you,” Nomad pointed out. Weaver turned to look at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

“I wasn’t talking about the French techie,” the sniper informed, “I was talking about the blonde with biceps.”

“Oh her?” Nomad bit back a laugh, “Dude, you have no chance.” He then raised a warning finger up to Weaver’s face. “I swear, if you make that ‘miss the shots you don’t take’ comment, I’ll find a new place for you to store that suppressor.”

“I wasn’t… not anymore,” Weaver said with his arms up defensively, before shooting a knowing smirk back to Nomad, “Just remember, you’re a married man too.” The sniper turned around and made his way back to the rest of the team.

Nomad stood there by himself, pondering his friend’s remark. “... some days, it certainly doesn’t feel like it…”

* * *

The following day, Nomad and the other Ghosts were running a low-level recon op in La Cruz, the men all spread out across town and wearing just their civilian attire: no vests, gear or long guns. While it made them less conspicuous to members of the Bolivian public, cartel lackeys and even members of UNIDAD, it meant that in the event that shit did hit the fan, they would have no real way to fight back or defend themselves.

Nomad kept himself busy on a street corner with a newspaper held out in front of him, leaning against the wall of the building when a brief flash of movement ahead of him caught his eye. Through his sunglasses, he looked over the edge of the paper and studied the cafe across the road. Nothing out of the ordinary stood out to him at first, but as a Delta Force operator he had once known earlier in his career had always said, ‘the devil was always in the details’.

The detail in this case was a lightly tanned woman, with sharp eyebrows and straight brown hair up in a bun and covered by a tan baseball cap, seated at a small table in cafe with a copy of the newspaper in her hands, her own eyes looking over the top and locked with his. The paper lowered a little more to reveal a small smile on the woman’s face, and her head nodded to the vacant chair across from her in a silent offer.

Smirking to himself, Nomad folded the paper under his arm and quickly jogged across the main road before moving into a more casual walk as he approached and entered the small cafe. It was still mid-morning, so the place was fairly busy but not uncomfortably so, making it near ideal for an unplanned meeting between two people operating covertly.

“I’ve got to say, madam,” Nomad spoke quietly as he took a seat across from whom he now recognised as Twitch, “you certainly look a lot more local than you did the other day. Then again, walking around in navy blue and black does tend to stand out in a place like this.”

“ _Mademoiselle_ , and I must agree with you,” Twitch said with a small smirk as she glanced up from her paper and at Nomad, “fatigues in this climate are quite the fashion faux pas.”

Nomad chuckled, “You’d know all about fashion, wouldn’t you.” He stopped when he noted the rather flat stare he was receiving from the frenchwoman. “Uh, not that I’m saying that because you’re a woman…” his voice trailed off as Twitch began to laugh quietly.

“Relax, Nomad… I know what you meant.” She said, leaning back in her seat after she set the newspaper down on the table.

“Then what was with that look?” Nomad asked, a little bit puzzled by her reassurance.

“I just love making men squirm from time to time,” Twitch responded with a knowing look in her eyes, a look that made Nomad shiver slightly. “I assume you are here on business, yes?”

Nomad squinted at her curiously, answering her with his guard raised, “You could say that, yes…”

“Easy,” Twitch offered, raising a hand to calm him down, “I’m not going to drag any secrets or anything like that out of you… that’s Taina’s job.”

“That’s a little reassuring,” he said with a dry chuckle, “though I wouldn’t put it past you to have a little drone tucked away somewhere here, just to watch us.”

Nomad watched as Twitch’s eyes flickered over to a spot behind his shoulder, and sure enough, when Nomad slowly turned around he saw half of a small black cylinder on wheels poking out from under a small food display cabinet. He turned back around to look at the woman, who was now wearing an impressed expression on her face.

“If that was a test, then you’ve got to try a lot harder than that.” Nomad shot playfully.

“Never said that drone was here to watch us…” Twitch responded in kind, looking back down at her paper. Nomad was about to question her remark, but was cut out by the sound of the cafe’s entry bell sounding out. The soldier schooled his expression as he watched Octavio Allende, better known as ‘El Pulpo’. The accountant was their current target, and the express reason why he and the team were down here in the town today.

Tearing his gaze away from the man with the obnoxiously large hat, Nomad focused instead on Twitch. Once again, she was wearing that small self-satisfied smirk. “You know, I didn’t think that Rainbow got involved in counter-narcotics…” Nomad asked once El Pulpo was out of earshot and at his own table further down the back of the cafe.

“You and I were of the same pool of thought,” Twitch answered with a touch of frustration in her lightly accented voice, “however… Taina, Meghan and I all spoke with Dengoso during our drive to our temporary home last night, and we all came to an agreement.”

“Huh,” Nomad said after a moment to process what was implied, “that explains why Bowman was happier than normal this morning… not as happy as when we bagged El Chido.” When Twitch gave him a funny look, he chuckle, “He was a singer of some sort, basically Santa Blanca’s ‘Kanye’.”

“And I’m guessing that Bowman went full fangirl?” Twitch asked, amused by the story.

“When she wasn’t threatening to hang him by his balls, she was pleading for his signature and asking him to sing his latest hits,” Nomad answered with a chuckle. “So the brother talked?”

Twitch nodded, “Yes, we got him to tell us what he knew, and Meghan passed that onto Bowman. It was after that when we realised that Monsieur Allende had clients outside of Santa Blanca that linked to organisations that fall under our purview.”

“Score one for inter-agency cooperation,” Nomad said dryly, stealing a glance over to El Pulpo, “so what’s your angle? What are you after?”

“We need his ledger,” Twitch answered after a few moments of pause, “unfortunately for us, El Pulpo is a man of the renaissance and keeps all of his important documentation off the grid in physical documents. But his key ledger has all of his primary account information, both for Santa Blanca and his other clients.”

“Seems mutually beneficial,” Nomad acknowledged with a small nod, “Bowman wants Pulpo, Rainbow wants his ledger.”

“Indeed. Before you ask, your handler has already shared all of the intelligence that you’ve gathered from your time here, and Meghan spent all of last night running that against everything that our team back home had access to,” Twitch continued with a small smirk, “she’s currently face down on a bunk in a small hotel a few kilometers away now.”

Nomad bit back a snort, “Sounds like her and Holt might get on real well.”

“Holt is an intelligence junkie like her, I take it?” Twitch asked, eyebrows raised by Nomad’s off hand remark.

“Not quite, but he does spent a lot of time face down in bunks…” he answered with a shake of his head and a laugh. The pair went silent as El Pulpo was called to the counter to collect his coffee order. Nomad leant across the table and pretended to point out an article in the paper, using the move to cover his question, “So, gameplan?”

“Follow him out to his car, tag it, trace his movements.” Twitch replied quickly and quietly, “Yours?”

“Stalk, snatch and grab… but we can delay it for a few days. Bowman won’t like it…”

“Bowman can _embrasser mon cul_ ,” Twitch cut in as she motioned for her and Nomad to stand. “Follow my lead…”

Nomad frowned but nodded, following Twitch out through the cafe entrance and taking up a position by her side. He noticed that she was armed as well, the outline of a sidearm tucked into a waistband holster at the small of her back barely visible underneath her grey mid-sleeve tee shirt. Nomad’s observations were briefly interrupted as he felt Twitch take his hand in hers. He cast a sideways glance at the motion, and Twitch leant into his side affectionately.

“We’re two caucasians in a Latin American country… they’ll pay less attention if they think we’re a couple.”

Nomad grunted softly in acknowledgement as his hand let go of hers, and his arm moved up to rest around the French woman's shoulders. “Fair enough… until they stop us, mug me, and kidnap you for sex work.”

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you, _Nomade_?” The way she said his nickname with that accent sent a shiver down his spine, and for a moment he wondered just how other things might sound that way, but Weaver’s little reminder from last night cut in loud and clear.

_‘Just remember, you’re a married man too…’_

Following El Pulpo, Nomad and Twitch made sure to hang back a considerable distance and stop frequently in the same manner that tourists were wont to do; pointing out landmarks, stopping and taking pictures of every second thing, and other ‘couple on holiday’ acts. Nomad was loathe to admit that he was vastly out of practise, the last time he’d spent time off with Angela was the year before last. He’d taken his accrued leave and spent a good month and a half with Angie and Jeremy, their young teenage son, in New Zealand.

There hadn’t been much chance since then to spend more than a few days at a time as a proper family, without any overhanging burden or risk of being called away for a mission to who-knows-where for who-knew-what.

“Nomad?” He was brought back from his musing by Twitch’s quiet voice and gentle prodding in his side.

“Mhm?” Nomad responded with a soft grunt as the pair rounded a corner.

“Half a block back, three men in Santa Blanca colours…” Twitch pointed out, and Nomad surreptitiously looked over his shoulder and spotted the three in question. They looked like regular low-level grunts hired by the cartel to act as cheap muscle, nothing more. “Don’t know if they part of Pulpo’s detail or if we’ve been made.”

“Only one way to find out,” Nomad said to her softly, glancing over to an alleyway across the road, “time to follow my lead.” Twitch nodded in understanding, and Nomad led the pair across the street and towards the alleyway. Behind them, the three cartel grunts copied their move and restored their lagging pursuit. “I think we’ve been made… you’ll have to take a crack at his car another day.”

“We’ve got time.” Twitch responded simply as they turned the corner into the alley. Out of sight, the pair picked up the pace until they were halfway through. They stopped when a shout from one of the men echoed from the entrance.

 _“Carteras y teléfonos! ¡No hagas nada gracioso o mis amigos y yo dispararemos!”_ The leader shouted as he and his friends approached with small handguns aimed at them. Nomad relaxed slightly while Twitch glanced up at him.

“They just want our wallets and phones, a mugging… they haven’t made us.” He said, reassuring Twitch.

“I studied advanced mathematics, took engineering classes, and have a few patents to my name,” she whispered back, hands held up at shoulder height as the gunmen approached, “it doesn’t leave much time to study any other languages outside of _français_ and _anglais_.”

Nomad nodded, as the gunmen were now just outside of arms reach. “ _Carteras_ _y teléfonos_ , or do you two _gringos_ not know _español_?” Nomad was about to step forward and speak up, but Twitch beat him to it.

 _“S'il vous plaît, ne nous tuez pas s'il vous plaît! Nous vous donnerons tout ce que vous voulez! Juste ne nous fait pas de mal!”_ She said in rapid fire French, catching both Nomad and the gunmen by surprise. The brief delay was just enough for Twitch to leap forward and seize the lead muggers’ hand, forcing his banged up Beretta 92FS up and out of the way whilst simultaneously slamming her other hand into the man’s throat with a sickening crunch.

Nomad used her distraction to take the second man, smashing his nose with a series of quickly repeated strikes before dropping him down to the ground with a knee to the groin. With the last man remaining, both Twitch and Nomad spun around and drew their own sidearms down on him. The last man froze up, his own weapon still out of the fight and pointed towards the ground as it had been earlier, simply caught by surprise.

“You volunteered to come down to a foreign country without knowing the local language?” Nomad spoke up, stealing a glance at Twitch who rolled her eyes at the remark before bringing her sidearm up to slam into the last man’s temple, sending him to the ground like a ton of bricks.

* * *

“I don’t remember the weather forecast predicting any _rainbows_ today.”

Nomad had to physically fight the urge to roll his eyes at Holt’s attempt at humour, as they came within sight of the three men gathered around the four-wheel drive they had used to get into town.

“I’m sorry,” Twitch replied with an easy smile as she stepped up between Holt and Midas and leant back against the vehicle, crossing her arms as her smile morphed into a smirk, “I didn’t mean to _rain_ on your parade.”

Both Midas and Nomad groaned audibly as Weaver shook his head, the latter speaking up, “Forty-plus counter-terrorism operators on Rainbow, and we just happen to get the one that makes puns…” Twitch shot the sniper an odd look, and he raised his hands defensively, “What, I can’t be the only one that did my homework…”

Twitch shook her head dismissively, “Be thankful that it’s me and not Elias or Grace. Those three are way worse than I am.” She covered her mouth to mask a chuckle, and Midas looked at her curiously.

“Do we want to know, or are we better off not knowing?”

“Elias has this nasty habit of using his shield, which is fitted with a row of high intensity flashlights that are practically flashbangs without the bang, as a scare device by jumping out of a hiding spot and triggering the flash,” Twitch began, “and Grace can hack your phone or other personal devices and make them play anything from ten hours of Nyan Cat to hardcore pornography.”

Holt started to laugh at this, while Nomad let out a couple of chuckles himself. “Hey, reckon they’ll let me transfer over once we’re done here?” Holt asked the group.

“Rainbow’s invite only, so unless you impress Six…” Twitch trailed off with a shrug, and Holt deflated.

“Eh, worth a shot,” he said, taking a spot beside Twitch, “probably for the better I stay where I am. These guys’d probably be lost without me anyway.”

“Oh no,” Nomad said in a flat voice, “please don’t leave us Holt. We’ll miss you.”

“Who else will match your cunning wit and charming ways,” Weaver added on in the same tone.

“You’re the best man of the entire team, we all look up to you,” finished Midas. Holt simply smirked and looked over his shoulder at Twitch.

“See what I have to work with?”

Twitch smiled and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder in mock reassurance, “This is nothing compared to what I’ve seen in Rainbow.” She stood up from the vehicle and stepped over to Nomad, “As much as I loved tagging along with you, _messieurs_ , I must bid you _adieu_.”

Nomad frowned as she began to walk off, “Hey, we just knocked out three guys cold… you expect to simply walk out of here?”

Twitch looked back over her shoulder and winked at the soldier, “A lady has to have some secrets…” He watched as she continued down the street before rounding the corner. Barely a minute later, a black and brown dirtbike sped around and past the men gathered by the four wheeler, a familiar figure riding atop the bike.

“Gotta admit, she has some style,” Midas chimed in as they watched her disappear into the distance.

* * *

 

“So… Pulpo got away?”

Nomad didn’t have a chance to take a seat before Bowman virtually jumped on top of him, something that he had grown used to over the last few months of working with the CIA handler. And it was clear to the man that with the way she had phrased that question, she already knew the answer. “So we’re working with Rainbow now?”

Bowman looked mildly impressed by Nomad’s redirection, if the small smirk that crossed her face was any indication. “Only for El Pulpo, and only because-”

“Rainbow’s after his other connections,” Nomad cut in and finished, collapsing into the chair across from Bowman, “save your breath, I got the rundown from Twitch when we crossed paths in town today. Would’ve been nice to have known that we’re working with them during the brief this morning.”

“I wasn’t expecting them to act so soon,” Bowman admitted with a hint of frustration, “Six has a history of playing her cards so close to her chest that they might as well be tattooed face down on her.” She shook her head and looked back up at Nomad, “But that’s besides the point. Pulpo got away.”

“Twitch wanted to bug the car, get a fix on the places that Pulpo frequents. I figured we could let her get her intel and put back the snatch a few days so she has enough intel,” Nomad clarified, “but we got interrupted as we tailed him from the cafe to where he had parked. Thought we’d been made, but it turns out that we made a good target of opportunity for some low-level muggers on the cartel’s payroll.”

“And you didn’t interrogate them?”

Nomad snorted, “For what, his shoe size? Guys that low don’t know jack, and once word gets out that a couple of tourists beat the shit of them…”

“Fair enough,” Bowman sighed, standing up and walking over to a small desk where her laptop sat, “Well, as far as Rainbow’s little contribution is concerned, they’re remaining focused on intelligence gathering only. That’s why they’re letting Miss Pichon and Miss Castellano stay down here for an extra week or two, but also why they aren’t sending anyone else.”

Nomad filed away the names for future reference, already sure of which name belonged to who. “Any background on who we’re working with, outside of what you already told us when we first jumped in with them?”

“Not much, Six has a nasty habit of blacking out the files of those under her command, even to those with high clearances…” Bowman said as she returned back to the table, “Twitch is Rainbow’s primary technical expert, as well as a scout and reconnaissance specialist. Was the youngest person to be accepted into the French GIGN, the national police’s special operations unit, at twenty years old,” she sat down and dropped a small file on the tabletop, “and Valkyrie is an intelligence specialist and also acts as a counter-assault specialist.”

“Counter-assault?” Nomad prompted.

“You put her between a person or object and anything trying to get to said person or object,” Bowman explained, “and that object or person will remain unharmed. Anyway, she’s an olympic hopeful that hurt herself, recovered, and joined the Navy out of high school. Went to college on their tab, returned and became an intel officer with the SEALs.”

“Sounds like she’s your type,” Nomad joked, “Shame that Weaver’s already got his eyes set on her.”

“You soldier boys are all the same,” Bowman shot back, rolling her eyes, “how you four haven’t humped my leg at this point is beyond me.”

“Need to have a leg worth humping,” he returned with a smirk, to which Bowman shot back with her middle finger.

“Anyway… as far as Pulpo goes, we’ll try and pick him up again tomorrow. As for the rest of today, well, you know how the rebels are with those supplies you keep tagging for them.”

Nomad groaned as he stood up, “I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Katari is selling that shit for crack, with the amount of fuel, medical supplies or comms parts he goes through.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Couldn’t wait to start the party without us?” Two days had passed since Nomad and his Ghosts last crossed paths, and as Nomad had just learned, Twitch had gone ahead and tagged Pulpo’s car much later that same day they had parted ways.

Twitch smirked as Nomad laid down beside her, the pair at the edge of a ledge that overlooked a Cartel-owned compound that Pulpo was known to use as his own little base of operations. The Ghosts had spent the past half hour scouting out the surrounding areas before moving to join the two Rainbow operators on their surveillance op. “The party never stops when I’m around, _Monsieur Nomade_ ,” she said with a chuckle, “I trust you brought some party snacks?”

Nomad set down a small pack of corn chips between them, and matched her smirk, “Only the finest. I’ve got Weaver posted up at that peak to our two o’clock, Holt and Midas are back at the truck pulling security.”

Twitch nodded, “Valkyrie might run into your friend then,” she glanced at the peak he had pointed out earlier, “she’s set up her own little observation post there, complete with a small micro-drone control station.”

Nomad had to bite back a laugh, “Oh, Weave’ll love that.”

“Oh?”

“Let’s just say he’s about to return to the open market, and he’s already shopping around.” Twitch had to chuckle at Nomad’s analogy.

“As long as he doesn’t mind that our dear Meghan is off the market,” she said with a soft sigh.

“He’ll get over it,” Nomad offered, “I’m sure the second his papers are signed, he’ll be going on a mini-deployment of his own to every strip joint in the tri-state area around Bragg.”

“And what of yourself?” Twitch asked, prompting the soldier to look at the woman curiously. “One would imagine that should your friend go out and celebrate, you would be right there beside him. I’m just wondering if you have the requisite permission to do so…”

“... well, that’s a roundabout way of asking if I’m married or not.” Nomad said after a few moments, chuckling at how Twitch rolled her eyes. “If it pleases the court, I am married. Also got a kid, too…”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’,” Twitch spoke up, and Nomad sighed.

“But… well, I’d be lying if I said it was dream life, y’know?” He let his head hang a little before looking out at the compound. “It kinda seems a little cliche, actually: marry my high school girlfriend, join the Army, have a kid. Just wasn’t all that it was cut out to be, though.”

“Life rarely is,” the frenchwoman offered quietly.

“Exactly. I guess if I were a run of the mill infantryman or something like that, it might’ve turned out differently. But I fast tracked into Delta once I got my degree and commission, so already I had to put up those walls and keep people out, even those I wanted in. And it got worse when I became a Ghost. With Delta, at least there was some kind of timeframe for when you’re away; you can say you’re expected to be home by this time or this date... it gives you something to look forward to…”

The pair went silent in thought, pondering over Nomad’s words.

“Nowadays, by the time Angie and Jeremy realise I’m gone, I’m already twenty-thousand feet over the Baltic or neck deep in a South American swap.”

“That’s the hardest thing,” Twitch spoke up after another brief silence, “about family. They don’t understand what you or or why you do it, and may never will fully grasp it… but they’re the sole motivation and the drive for you to give it your all.” She set down the small tablet she held in her hands and looked at Nomad squarely, “Strip away all that patriotic _connerie_ , all that ‘freedom’ and ‘for the people’ nonsense, and you get to the real reason why people like you and I do what we do…” she paused and looked back over at the compound, “to make the world a better place for our family.”

Nomad stared at the compound and its surroundings as Twitch went back to work on her tablet, pondering on her little speech from just earlier. Sure, he wasn’t afraid to admit that as cringy as it sounded, he joined the army to give back to his nation and do his part to ensure the world remained free. His first foray into the seedy underbelly of said world shattered whatever idealistic views he had, and twelve years later, the only thing that was really keeping him going were his two families: the one back home that he loved, and the one by his side that he’d gladly die for if he needed to.

_“Hey, Twitch… check out that small single storey building with the dish on the south-eastern corner…”_ Nomad snapped back into focus as the voice of Valkyrie filtered into his _ear, “Pulpo’s been in that place for just over the last hour now. It’s probably a safe call that his office is in that room. SIGINT intercepts from this location suggest that a lot of the internet and communications traffic that comes and goes from here is encrypted in nature, so if I were a betting woman I’d say that he does his business from that building.”_

“And are you a betting woman?” Twitch asked with a playful tone in her voice.

_“Are Siu and Masaru still banging each other despite being exes?”_ Nomad’s eyebrows shot up at the remark, noting how Twitch had to cover her mouth to catch a laugh. _“I think his ledger is kept in there, so if those Ghosts are up to the task, then I think there’s no better time than right now.”_  
  
Twitch rolled onto her side and looked at Nomad, “Penny for your thoughts?”

Nomad nodded and reached to key his own microphone, “Weaver, you think you can stay up there with Valkyrie and watch our asses?”

_“You got it Nomad.”_

“Good… Midas, Holt, on me, time we pay El Pulpo a visit…”

* * *

 

The insertion into the compound was uneventful; at this point in the operation, the Ghosts had worked out how Santa Blanca operated their security networks and guard shifts, and now getting inside places like where El Pulpo was holed up was simply a matter of timing and well-placed suppressed headshots.

In no time at all, Nomad along with Holt and Midas had finally reached the door that led to the office that El Pulpo was inside of. Taking one last look down the empty hallway, Nomad stepped forward and knocked firmly in the middle of the door.

“¡Pensé que les había dicho a ustedes pendejos que me dejaran en paz mientras estoy trabajando aquí!” El Pulpo did not sound happy, Nomad observed, and he knocked on the door once more. “Lo juro por Dios, si todavía estás parado allí cuando respondo a la puerta-” Pulpo went silent as he opened the door, Nomad rushing forward with his suppressed M9 in hand and thrust into the cartel accountant’s face. He stumbled backwards and fell, Nomad falling with him and sending the pair crashing to the floor.

Holt and Midas filed in quickly behind them, with Midas shutting and locking the door as Holt made a beeline for the open computer and ledger that sat atop of El Pulpo’s desk. Nomad picked himself up off of the man and pressed the M9 firmly against the man’s forehead. “Excuse me, sir,” he began, “but we’re from the Internal Revenue Service… you’re being audited for years of unpaid taxes.”

_“Nomad, how’re you and your boys?”_ Valkyrie chimed in over the radio, and Nomad stepped up off of the petrified El Pulpo as Midas took his place and started restraining him.

“Cat’s in the bag, and we’ve got your little black book too. How’re we looking outside?” The Ghost team leader asked, picking up a file that was sitting on a nearby table.

_“Well, I have bad news and I have bad news… which would you like first?”_

“How about the bad news then?”

Valkyrie sighed over the radio, _“It looks like that some of the local rebels have kicked up a bit of a storm nearby with a pair of UNIDAD patrols, and now Santa Blanca’s involved. The other bad news is that the fight is rolling over this way, and there are multiple hostiles on all three sides.”_

“Fuckin’ Katari’s men don’t know when to play it cool,” Midas grunted as he lifted the restrained and silenced El Pulpo to his feet, “what does that mean for our extract?”

“Don’t know… Valkyrie?” Nomad prompted as he stuffed the last few documents into Holt’s backpack before zipping it shut.

_“The only advantage is that most of the gunmen in the compound are focused on the fight to the north, leaving that southerly pathway you took in still viable. But if you’re taking an extra body through that pathway, you’ll be exposed once they notice he’s gone.”_

“Right…” Nomad said in acknowledgement, “How long you think we have before we need to move?”

_“The sooner you make like your namesake, the better.”_

_“Nomad, have your team near the south eastern wall. There’s an access road that goes past about ten meters away,”_ Twitch spoke up over the radio.

_“Emma, there’s not a lot of cover around there, not to mention it’s within clear sight of those two sniper’s nests…”_ Valkyrie chimed in, her voice betraying her concern for her friend.

_“If this goes right, we won’t need the cover…”_

Nomad shared an uneasy look with both Holt and Midas, the former shrugging at the conversation on the radio, “Hey, when was the last time something ever went exactly as planned?”

“Weaver’s wedding,” Midas answered, “And look how that turned out…”

“South east wall it is…” Nomad grunted, taking the lead out of the office doorway and into the hall.

With the three-way furball still in full swing outside the compound’s north, it didn’t take long for Nomad, Midas and Holt, along with El Pulpo, to arrive at the wall that Twitch had told them about. The four were growing antsy at the wait, eyes and scopes occasionally flicking up to the two sniper’s nests that they were in clear view of.

_“Thirty seconds,”_ Twitch finally spoke up over the radio, and Nomad breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Mind filling us in on your plan?” He asked, a little surprised at the tone he had taken with her.

_“Just stay clear of the third section of concrete, and prepare to run when I give the signal.”_

Holt stifled a laugh, and glanced at the part of the wall in question, about ten meters away from where they were all crouched down. “Wonder what the signal is…”

Seconds later, the wall lit up as a square section of brick was melted away by two hot lines of what appeared to be molten liquid. The lines joined, and then the wall was replaced by smoke as an ear-shattering explosion sounded out.

_“Run! Go through the wall and run straight!”_ The Ghosts needed no further prompting, and quickly got to their feet and sprinted through the remains of the reinforced concrete wall that seemingly turned into dust. As they ran into the open space, Nomad saw Twitch climbing into the four-wheel drive truck that his team had arrived in. Still running, he took El Pulpo’s other arm and together with Midas, picked up him and threw him into the rear tray, climbing up into it himself shortly after.

Nomad swapped out his ACR for his Stoner LMG and rested it against the side of the tray, pointing it back at the compound as both Midas and Holt climbed into the rear seats of the cab. The doors had yet to shut as Twitch gunned the throttle and sent the truck forward down the access road and away from the compound. The entire extraction took less than thirty seconds from the time the wall was blown to pieces to the time they were out of sight of the compound. Setting the machine gun down onto the tray’s floor, Nomad leant back against the cab and finally relaxed, the excess adrenaline he’d built up from the run now starting to slowly dissipate.

“I trust you got that on camera, Meghan?” Twitch asked over the radio.

_“I’ll be sure to send a copy to Jordan… though I have to ask, how did you manage to smuggle one of his charges down here… or should I ask, why did you bring one of his charges down here?”_

“I’m a bit disappointed that you feel the need to even ask,” Twitch shot back, “what’s the golden rule of Rainbow?”

_“Don’t let Mike fix anything related to computers?”_

“Expect anything, prepare for everything.”

* * *

 

Nomad closed the door of the safe house behind him, leaving El Pulpo and Bowman to their meeting alone. As a general rule, you were supposed to have a third person there as a witness of sorts, and to make sure nothing untoward happened to either party.

He’d made the mistake of sitting in with Bowman during one of her less delicate ‘interrogations’. Never again.

Instead, Nomad spent the time resting up for the next job, which usually involved a very quick and informal debriefing, reloading weapon magazines, replenishing batteries and other tools and devices they had used, and just unwinding and relaxing.

It was becoming dark as the sun settled down for the day. and behind the safe house Holt had started up the small gas grill that was recently ‘appropriated’ for use by the Ghosts, while Midas and Weaver sat in front of the small fire pit that was dug out a few meters away. Curiously, he noted that the two specialists from Rainbow had taken their own spots around the fire.

He wandered over casually, his tactical vest unzipped and hanging loosely as he took a place between Twitch and Midas. “I guess you’re headed back soon, now you’ve got your little black book?”

Twitch smiled softly as she watched the fire, “Perhaps… I’m not quite sure, we’re waiting on Six’s call. Valkyrie’s still got to parse through that book and send over the intel that we need. That might take another day or two.”

“Why not just take it back and do it at home?”

“In case we find something that’s critical down here still,” Twitch answered, looking over to Nomad, “plus, we can give the book back and plant it on someone else in the cartel. Might serve as further catalyst for the cartel’s collapse, make it seem like there was some more infighting.”

Nomad nodded in agreement, “Not a bad thought, actually...don’t think Pulpo’s going to see the light of day again after Bowman’s through with him.”

The scout snorted, “I can tell that there’s no love lost there.”

“While I do question her methods at times, she does get results,” the team leader conceded, “It is disturbing sometimes, as she’s the sort to ‘do unto others as they do to you’. Apart from Nidia Flores and a select few others; she was surprisingly gentle with them.”

“And that musician,” Twitch chimed in, to which Nomad chuckled softly.

“Yes, that guy too. But we never see or hear from the others that we bring in alive again; I don’t know if she renders them to some black site out in the middle of nowhere, or just takes them out back and shoots them. Not quite sure what’s worse…”

“Very interesting thought…” Twitch agreed, going silent as she reached forward and poked at the small campfire with a stick she had picked up off the ground. Nomad studied her, the fading light and the glow of the fire casting her face and body in an intriguing clash of light and shadow. Unlike yesterday, her hair was now down and hanging loosely over her shoulders and down her back. Along with the slightly-loose fitting beige shirt that she had rolled the sleeves on, and the faded grey jeans that were tucked into a pair of low-profile hiking shoes, she gave off a much more relaxed appearance. If it weren’t for the FNP-9 sidearm in a holster strapped to her right thigh, or the fingerless black gloves on her hands, one could easily assume that the woman was ready for an easy-going night out.

“Just a few more heads to roll, then we can take Sueño down,” Nomad spoke up after a few minutes, “Might be another month, month and a half tops…”

“And then what?”

“Don’t know. We go where the bosses tell us… you know how that goes.”

Twitch nodded understandingly, “Don’t we all… what’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”

Nomad sat up and stretched his arms out, glancing over to Holt as he approached with a tray of freshly barbequed chicken with Valkyrie right behind him, a case of beer in her hands. “Probably just some low-level snatch and grab stuff for the rebels: fuel, food and water, medical supplies… puts us in good stead with Katari’s Twenty-Six, even if I trust them as far as I can throw them.”

“You know what they say,” Twitch chimed in, “that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’.”

Nomad chuckled, and accepted a grilled chicken skewer from the tray that Holt offered as he walked past as well as a beer that Valkyrie gently tossed to him, “I’m just waiting for the day that Katari turns around and sticks the knife into us instead of Sueño.”

“Just say the word,” Twitch said as she opened her own beer, “I’m sure Caveira will jump at the chance to come down here and lend you a hand.”

“Come on,” Nomad mock-frowned, “I’m not that sadistic…”


	3. Chapter 3

Twitch sighed in relief as she laid down on her bunk for the first time in a week and a half, finally clean of the stench and grime that she’d unfortunately picked up in Bolivia. One of the perks of working in a group like the GIGN and Rainbow compared to more ‘conventional’ military units were the operating environments: the vast majority of operations and missions were in fairly urban and built-up environments.

Well, maybe some of her fellow specialists within the multi-national unit would be at home in conditions like those in the South American narco-state; a pair of SEALs, two Brazilian police officers, and quartet of Russians came to mind.

Don’t get her wrong, she recognised that sometimes one needed to get dirty to get the job done… just, sometimes she preferred not to have to take five separate showers after a single mission.

“So, how was Bolivia?” The lightly accented voice of Monika Weiss brought Emmanuelle Pichon back from her thoughts, and the French tech specialist looked across from her bunk to that of her German roommate. “I couldn’t help but notice that you and Meghan came back later than Taina and that friend of hers…”

Apparently, the reason why Caveira had disappeared hadn’t spread around the rest of the team yet. For the moment, Twitch wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “We got a little tied up with some operations that were going on down there.”

“With the cartel?” IQ prompted, to Twitch’s mild surprise. Her shock must have shown, as Monika continued, “Dominic still keeps in touch with some of his contacts from his undercover days, Santa Blanca used to be one of the Hanover Hells Angels suppliers of cocaine.” IQ swung her legs up and laid down on her bunk. “Mentioned to us a few days ago how supply had suddenly slowed down, and that it’s no coincidence that all of the cartel’s problems started shortly after that embassy bombing…”

“... You already know, don’t you,” Emmanuelle said after a moment of pointed silence, rolling her eyes as IQ smirked.

“Grace told me what was going on after you and Meghan disappeared just like Taina did a fortnight ago,” the German admitted shamelessly, “She said that she’d been monitoring some heavily encrypted chatter bouncing back and forth between Langley and various sites in Bolivia. She didn’t peak and actually see what it was, at least she didn’t admit to it, but there’s some serious work going on down there.”

“Not far from the truth,” Twitch said with a soft sigh, “if you must know, Taina’s little brother was working deep cover in Santa Blanca with the _Polícia Federal_. Somehow his cover was blown, he tried to escape, and he called Taina for help. She ran to help, we followed her, and… well, we got some help while we were down there.”

IQ squinted at Twitch’s evasive answer, but was cut off by a sharp series of knocks on their door. Before either of them could answer, someone opened the door and entered. “I was wondering where you were, Pichon.” Eliza Cohen, better known as Ash to the rest of the team, leant against the open doorway with her arms folded.

“Dare I ask for what, Eliza?” Twitch asked as she sat up on her bunk.

“Well, I hope you aren’t too tired from your little expedition down south,” Ash said with a small knowing smile on her face, “but Six has passed on orders for a training rotation with the US Army’s Special Forces.”

IQ lit up a little, “The Green Berets? What, is this another ‘recruitment drive’ or actually training?”

“A little bit of both, if I’m being honest,” Ash admitted, “Six has her eyes on a handful of shooters from Delta Force, and they share the same quarters as the Green Berets at Fort Bragg, but she’s also slotted in a group for some jungle warfare training.” The FBI operator grinned at Twitch, “It seems that some of our friends highlighted the need for some of our more ‘urban’ specialists to get their boots dirty.”

“Who’s going?” Twitch asked, dreading the answer.

“We’re sending down the pair of you for starters, but Six is still putting together the full list. It’ll be a mixture of those that have not much operating experience in those conditions paired with a few of us that do,” Ash responded, “Plus Mike, Meghan and Craig: Mike as the detachment leader, the SEALs as they’re going down to liase with JSOC on our behalf.”

Twitch nodded as she and IQ let the announcement sink in. It wasn’t uncommon for members of Rainbow to be sent away for refresher training in certain areas, though training in environments like the jungle was outside of the usual. But as Ash had said, Six must’ve seen a capability gap and was aiming to fix it.

“When do we go?” Monika spoke up, looking up at Ash expectantly.

“No actual date’s been given, as it’s subject to operational demands, but we’re looking at a month’s time.” Ash left before the two operators could respond further, leaving IQ and Twitch to share a look before shrugging. Monika retrieved a small book from her bunkside table before glancing over at Twitch.

“Sounds like this should be fun…”

* * *

_A month later…_

Seven months.

Seven months for the Santa Blanca cartel, one of the world’s largest narcotics producers and suppliers, to finally collapse after the Ghost’s tireless efforts to destabilise and dismantle their carefully constructed networks.

Seven months before El Sueño was extradited into the United States and whisked away by the Department of Justice and the US Marshal’s service for him to testify and throw the heads of four other major cartels and two terrorist organisations operating on the US’s doorstep under the bus.

Seven months before Nomad, Holt, Midas, and Weaver all finally got the go ahead to start making their way home.

Seven months for Nomad to realise that this time would be the last time that he’d be returning home to an actual family.

His return home wasn’t grand or extravagant as it used to when he was in Delta: no wife and infant son to greet him at the terminal or on the tarmac at the air base, no ‘welcome back’ banner strung up across the driveway or in his bedroom, no ‘I missed you’ lovemaking late at night despite the fact that all he really wanted to do was sleep in a comfortable bed for the first time in ages.

No, all he got this time was a handwritten note on a case of his favourite beer in the fridge (‘I heard you were back. I’ll see you when I’m home from work’) and loud music blaring from his son’s bedroom.

Dumping his bags in his bedroom, Nomad made a beeline for the bathroom and took what would be his first actual hot shower in seven months. Plumbing was hard to come by in Bolivia, reliable hot water even more so. The same for any decent cleaning supplies. Sure, the safe houses that were established in the larger towns had some kind of bathing established, but even then he was hard pressed to get himself relatively clean… more often than not, he was only scrubbing the freshest layer of mud and dirt off, exposing the older and dryer layers underneath.

Half an hour and a much needed scrub and shave, Nomad, the Ghost who wrecked hell in the Bolivian wildlands, was gone. In his place stood Major Anthony Perryman, special forces officer with the US Army’s 5th Special Forces Group.

Tony walked back down the hall and past his son’s door, pausing there for a moment as he listened to the music blaring through the timber.

_“... night, for the rest of your life, silent night for the rest of your life, violent knight at the edge of your knife, ‘forgive me father’ won’t make it right…”_

Frowning, Tony knocked on the door with his first firmly a few times, “Jeremy! Turn it down a few decibels, they can hear that in Afghanistan!” He waited a few moments, though to his dismay the music actually grew louder in protest. Sighing, Tony moved along the hall and into the kitchen, where a pile of envelopes addressed to him sat under a yellow ‘post it’ note with ‘FOR TONY’ written in black marker pen on it. He collected the pile and made his way to the living room, where he took a seat on the couch and turned the TV on before turning his attention to his mail.

_‘Bill, bill, service notice for the car, bill, newsletter from Jeremy’s school, bill…’_ Tony rattled the list off in his head as he sorted through the envelopes and organised them in priority. The bills went last as by now the final paycheck from both the Army and CIA would’ve hit his account, including danger pay, and that he’d be more than able to pay them off.

_‘Not that it leaves much for everything else… maybe that Bookhart guy was on the right track after all…’_ Tony thought, remembering the former Ranger that became Santa Blanca’s chief combat instructor. Sure, maybe joining a criminal organisation was a tad extreme, but there wasn’t much now stopping him from retiring from the Army and getting into security contracting. Those guys were sometimes making six-figures a year.

Key word being sometimes… At least with the Army, there was a stable paycheck and a pension at the end of his service, either when he retired or sent home in a pine box. Contractors didn’t have that luxury.

Maybe he could finally take that desk job that Lieutenant Colonel Gordon was pestering him about. Majors didn’t normally take teams out into the field, even on high priority or long-term operations like the one in Bolivia. He and Major Mitchell were in the same boat; the difference being that Mitchell was being groomed for eventual command of the entire unit while Tony was looking at being moved into the intelligence section.

He stole a glance at the clock that hung on the wall above the television, noting that it read back two-thirty in the afternoon. He’d been home for just under an hour at this point: Angie wasn’t due home until much later that night, roughly eight or nine o’clock, given that she’d apparently been called away for a shift; and Jeremy wasn’t likely to emerge from his room until dinner time.

No harm in killing some time at base, right?

* * *

 “Go home, Perryman,” Major Scott Mitchell said with a knowing smirk as Tony walked into the building that served as the Ghost’s headquarters on Fort Bragg, “You only just got back from down south.”

“I am home, at least my second one,” Tony shot back as he walked past his fellow officer and took a seat at his own desk across from Mitchell. The other Major was somewhat of a legend within the Ghosts, having seen multiple tours and missions that had prevented all kinds of chaos from erupting. He’d been officially benched from field work about five years ago and bumped up into an administrative and command position, and had also been one of the officers that had initially briefed Nomad and his team for their ops down in Venezuela and Bolivia.

“Wife and kid not home?” Scott asked, frowning a little in concern.

“Wife’s at work, kid pretending I don’t exist,” Tony answered, firing up his computer. “Anything I miss back here?”

“Nothing of note, though the intel that your expedition dug up has shaken a lot of trees, both domestic and foreign,” Scott replied, reaching over to hand Tony a file folder stamped with the CIA’s seal and marked as ‘classified’. The man took it and dropped it onto the desk with a small sigh. “What, not gonna read it?”

“Who do you think gathered that shit in the first place?” Tony sighed, opening up the latest intelligence reports from the South American region. He glossed over the various ‘headlines’ he’d come to call them, a little surprised by how fast things seemed to have changed over there. Santa Blanca’s absence had hit the local economies hard, and lawlessness had seemed to actually increase instead of decrease…

“There’s a reason why Buzz brought in that mandatory two weeks post-operation leave, right?” Mitchell questioned, leaning back in his chair. Nomad clicked out of the reporting window and fixed his fellow officer a glare. “Hey, I’m just saying… if Buzz catches wind of your presence here-”

“Goddamn it, Perryman!”

“Well,” Mitchell said with a sympathetic smile as Tony winced at the sharp barking voice of their commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Harold “Buzz” Gordon, “It was nice knowing you, Tony.”

“Thanks, Scott,” Tony muttered as he turned in his office chair to face the approaching officer. At sixty-four years old, Colonel Gordon was the original Ghost, the granddad of the unit and possessed just as much fight in this present day as he did when he first served back in the early eighties. “Lieutenant Colonel, sir, good-” Tony began as he stood from his seat, to which he was subsequently pushed back down into by the older officer.

“Stow the shit, Anthony,” Buzz began, folding his arms across his chest, “care to explain to me why your recently returned ass is sitting at this desk right now?”

“Sir,” Tony began with a small sigh, “home isn’t exactly homely at the moment… figured I’d be better off here where I can actually do something productive.”

A flash of understanding crossed Buzz’s face before it hardened back into its usual stern appearance, “The most productive thing you could be doing right now, Nomad, is to be resting up. I can’t imagine you’ve had a proper night’s sleep in god knows how long, and the flight back doesn’t count,” the Colonel said before Tony could interrupt him, “But, seeing as you’re here… we’ve got some visitors coming here in the next week or two.”

Nomad frowned a little, as visitors often meant a representative from either JSOC or the CIA, and they usually brought a mission or operation along with them. “If it’s Bowman, give her to someone else.”

“It’s not Bowman,” Mitchell reassured, jumping in between the two officers, “If anything, it’ll be a nice change of pace for you and the others.” He turned around and retrieved another file folder from his desk and handed it to Tony, who opened it up and took a cursory glance at the first page.

“We’re running training ops now?” Nomad asked with a small frown, looking up at both Mitchell and Colonel Gordon for confirmation.

“Only for this particular group. JSOC wanted the best instructors, figured you and your boys are fresh out of the jungle and can lend some words of wisdom to them,” Buzz said with a small smirk on his face, “You might even recognise a couple of them.”

Nomad raised an eyebrow at the comment, then flicked over to the list of names of the soldiers they were expecting, and sure enough, three of them stood out.

_Meghan Castellano_   
_Taina Pereira_   
_Emmanuelle Pichon_

“What’s Rainbow doing sending over their guys to us?” He asked as he closed the folder.

“Well,” Buzz began as he sat against the edge of a nearby desk, “From what their commander shared with me, a lot of their folk come from units that primarily operate in urban environments. A handful of their guys have actual field experience in places like the jungle or desert, and with their operational tempo picking up in more remote areas…”

“Well, they want everyone in the team to have some experience in operating in those climates and environments,” Mitchell finished, “We’re taking the first group for a series of lessons in jungle warfare. MARSOC’s taking a second group to at Twentynine Palms for desert warfare later this year.”

Nomad leant back in his chair and shook his head in disbelief, “So, sometime in the next fortnight, right? I assume you’ll want me to write up some kind of training program for them?” When both Mitchell and Buzz nodded, he sighed. “Guess I know what I’ll be doing on my days off…”

* * *

 After spending the rest of the working day in the headquarters, Tony returned home to find his son Jeremy sitting at the dinner table, a half-eaten plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of him. He unbuttoned his uniform blouse and hung it on a hook near the door, then walked into the kitchen to retrieve his own plate of dinner.

Tony took a seat across from his son, who was pointedly avoiding looking at his father. “Jeremy…”

“... what, Dad?”

Tony frowned at the tone that his son had taken, but forced himself to not lapse back into ‘Nomad’ and begin treating him like a buchon, “Why weren’t you at school today?”

“Was a teacher development day… no teachers to teach, so they closed for the day…” Jeremy answered, finally looking up to make eye contact.

“Right. So what did you end up doing today?”

“Hung out with some friends this morning, played some games this afternoon, nothing much.” Jeremy shrugged, finishing off the last of the food on his place.

“Get all your homework done?” Nomad asked as Jeremy stood up from the table. “I don’t want to have another discussion with your history teacher like I did last time…”

“Dad, last time was last year…” Jeremy called out from the kitchen, no masking the frustration in his voice, and Tony only barely caught the last half of his reply, “you’d know if you were here.”

Tony frowned and let his own frustrations simmer, opting to go for a lighter approach, “Hey, since I’m back, I was wondering if you wanted to-” his question was cut off by the sudden slam of Jeremy’s bedroom door. He sat in silence, wondering where he’d gone wrong with raising his son for him to become so disrespectful and rebellious. The answer was pretty clear to him, as loathe as he was to admit it: he just wasn’t there enough.

The rattling of the front door lock caught his attention, and he watched as his wife walked through the door and into the living room of their home. “Hey Angie,” Tony called out, standing from the table to meet her as she reached the kitchen. He pulled her into a much needed welcoming hug, one that she returned tightly. “It’s good to be home,” he said quietly, his faced tucked into her collar.

“It’s good to have you back,” Angela whispered back, reluctantly letting go.

“I saw your note, on the pack in the fridge.”

“Yeah,” she said as she broke away from his grasp to begin fetching her own plate for dinner, “one of the other medics on shift couldn’t make it due to a family emergency of his own, so I had to cover him until the next shift started.”

As dark as it sounded, their choice of occupations generated a small touch of amusement, out of the fact that both of their jobs were as far apart from each other as they could get: his by taking lives as a soldier, hers by saving lives as an Emergency Medical Technician. ‘Opposite sides of the same coin’, one of his old Delta Force team members used to remark.

“Busy afternoon?” Nomad asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“A little; main dish was a car versus a motorcyclist and pedestrian, with a side of welfare check with the local police, followed by a dessert of domestic violence clean-up.” Angie sighed as she retrieved a can of soft drink from the fridge, before taking it and her plate of food to the dinner table. Tony followed after her and sat down beside her as she ate.

“How was the wife?”

Angie snorted at Tony’s question, “In handcuffs and in the backseat of a cruiser when we got there. She took a steel bat to her husband’s face and crotch.” Nomad grimaced reflexively, and Angela rolled her eyes, “She tried to claim self-defense, but witnesses heard him screaming at her to stop and calm down. Cops aren’t buying what she’s selling, especially since he’s got defensive wounds over his arms and legs and she’s practically unharmed.”

“Think she’ll get the book thrown at her?” Nomad asked curiously, mentally trying to visualise the scenario.

Angela shrugged, “Depends on how the husband turns out, he was a mess when we got to him. If he lives through the night, she’s looking at aggravated assault charges. If he doesn’t, then it’ll probably be bumped up to manslaughter or something like that.” She sighed and sat back in her chair, rubbing her face. “I’d ask how your day was, but I know the answer is going to be ‘I can’t say’.”

Tony shook his head, “Well, today, I spent the afternoon in headquarters starting up a training program for these new guys we’re having come in… as for the last seven months, well… I can’t say.”

Angela sighed, turned in her seat and pulled herself onto Tony’s lap, hugging into him sideways, “I know you were Special Forces, and that ‘officially’ you’re with an intelligence battalion… but there’s no fooling me…” she leant away from him and fixed her husband a stern look. “You know I’m keeping a track of all the scars that appear on your body, and you cannot deny that you come home with more and more after every single one of these impromptu ‘intelligence summits’ you keep being whisked away to for months on end…”

“Angie…”

“No… you listen for once…” his wife cut in sternly, “Whatever it is you’re doing, it has nothing to do with intelligence or anything of that nature. And I know it’s more dangerous than what you did in Delta, and we both know that they do some really crazy stuff,” she chuckled humorlessly, “I’m just afraid that, like this time and the time before that, you’ll get called away without even a goodbye, and that’ll be the last time Jeremy and I will ever hear from you again.”

Tony held her tight, her words cutting deep into his heart. “Look, as much as I want to tell you, I can’t. I know it’s not fair, but sometimes it’s best for you not to know what I do…” he sighed and pried her off him so he could look her in the eye, “I probably shouldn’t even tell you this, but this most recent job? More than likely the last one I’ll ever be sent on. Guys with my rank don’t normally go out unless it’s really important, and when I last spoke to my commander, he was making some not-so-subtle hints about me taking a fixed desk job in the not too distant future.” He hugged her close again. “You can stop worrying about me now, because I’m sure from now on, I’ll be home a lot more often now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song that Jeremy is blasting out is “Devil In A Midnight Mass” by Billy Talent.


	4. Chapter 4

[ _“I’m bringing sexy back, (yeah), them other boys don’t know how to act, (yeah)...”_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LcLwHjtUacU) The bass was low and vibrating every bone in her body, the lights and lasers blinding, the air packed with a mixture of sweat, alcohol and sexual tension so thick that one could cut it with a knife.

Not for the first time, Emmanuelle questioned whether this was better than sitting around in a hotel room watching something on one of the local television networks with Mike, Craig and Gustave. Somehow, through the combined efforts of Grace, Ela and, to her surprise, Eliza, she had been dressed up and dragged into town to hit up a club. To ‘relax and unwind a little before they went to school’, as Grace had so eloquently put it.

A quick glance to her left revealed the woman in question was in a booth two to the left of their own, which was off to the side of the decently crowded club, currently straddling the lap of a man that was at the very least five years her junior and engaged in the ancient art of ‘international non-verbal communication’.

Rolling her eyes, she looked back at the handful of the team that were still seated with her in their own booth. Eliza and Mark were engaged in casual conversation with Julien, though the topic of how many of the Frenchman’s plates could stop one of Ash’s breaching grenades was starting to become a little ridiculous. Grace was ‘occupied’ in dialect with the locals, and the other members of the party were out on the dance floor. On one side, Ela and Meghan had caught the attention of a handful of local men and were surrounded by them, while a little further on Monika and Elias were currently trying to minimise the amount of space between their own bodies.

If she had to guess, the current distance was at an average zero-point-two-seven millimeters.

With a quiet sigh, she finished off the rest of her drink and set it down on the tabletop, next to a large collection of empty glasses of varying sizes. Rainbow worked notoriously hard to do what they did. They also partied and drank just as hard, if not harder. When you considered that any and every single day they worked could potentially be their last, it was understandable.

“Another round?” Emmanuelle spoke up, interrupting her three teammates with her question. Julien and Mark shook their heads, though Eliza quickly finished off the remnants of her own drink.

“I could go for one more… you know what I’m having, right Em?” The FBI agent asked, her face a little flushed both from the heat of the club and from the amount of whiskey she’d consumed so far.

Emmanuelle nodded, sliding out of the booth gracefully despite her own growing inebriation. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Taking care not to trip up or stumble into anyone or anything, she slowly made her way around the club and up to the bar. Walking up, she rested against the counter and patiently waited for her turn to be served by one of the bartenders. Occasionally, she glanced out over to the crowded dance floor to catch Meghan and headed to the exit with a man under each of her muscled arms, and Ela had made her own tactical retreat back to the booth for a breather.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn around and face a man that she guessed to be a few years younger than herself, eyes bloodshot from presumably the bright lights, “Hey, was your dad a fighter pilot? ‘Cause you’re the bomb.” It took all of her mental resolve to not roll her eyes and groan at the man’s appalling attempt to pick her up, opting to smile at him gently and turn her attention back to the bar. Another tap on the shoulder, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw that the man had not quite taken the hint.

This time, she did roll her eyes before turning her head to look at him, “Yes?”

“Look, I know that was a crap line, but worth a shot, right?” He offered, admittedly looking a little ashamed at himself.

“How many times has it worked for you so far?” She asked him.

“None so far,” the man chuckled awkwardly, “Can I buy your drink as an apology?”

“The words are enough,” Emmanuelle said firmly, turning to face the bartender that was nearing her.

“Oh, come on… just one drink!”

“Hey,” a third voice interjected, one that sounded strangely familiar to her, “you heard the lady. Listen to her, you’ll live longer.”

Over her shoulder, she watched the newcomer tug her harasser away by the shoulder and have a quiet word to him, before the younger man walked away. Her ‘saviour’ shook his head and filled the space next to her. “No, you cannot buy my drink as well,” she began, cutting him off. To her surprise though, he laughed.

“All good, though I gotta say, of all the places to cross paths again, it’s here.” The man said with a sense of familiarity in his voice. Emmanuelle frowned at him a little in confusion.

“I’m sorry… but have we met?” She asked him cautiously, and his eyes widened a little in surprise. He took a quick glance around him before leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“Archangel. Down south? Little bit of interagency cooperation?” The memories came flooding back, and the cleaned up individual in front of her morphed into the stubbled, headphone wearing man from a month ago.

“ _Sainte merde,_ Holt?” She exclaimed quietly, smiling wide at him. Holt returned the smile and leant against the bar counter.

“The one and only, though call me Dominic, or Dom, whichever you prefer. We’re off the clock.”

“Emmanuelle, in that case.” She looked over to the bartender who watching her expectantly, and excused herself from Dom to quickly place her drinks order. Done with that, she then focused back on the Ghost. “So, what brings you here, of all places?”

“A celebration, of sorts.” Dom said with a small laugh, “Corey’s papers went through. He’s a free man now.”

“Corey…” Emmanuelle said in thought, trying to remember who Holt was referring to, “Was that… Weaver?”

“The one and only. The crew’s here with a few other guys from the team. Should swing by and say hi, I’m sure they’d be happy to see you…” He said, turning around and pointing over to a booth not far from her own, where the rest of that four man Ghost team were seated with a couple of other unfamiliar faces.

“I might just do that…” she responded as her order was set down. Picking up the two glasses, she looked back to Dom. “Let me just drop my friend’s drink off, I’ll meet you there.”

“I’ll come with, actually, if you don’t mind. Pretty sure that guy from earlier still has his eye on you.”

Emmanuelle nodded appreciatively, and together, the pair left the bar and made their way around and back to where Eliza, Ela and the others were seated. She didn’t miss the knowing smirk that both the American and Polish women shot her way when both her and Dominic stopped at the booth. “Who’s your new friend?” Eliza asked as she took her drink from Emmanuelle’s hand.

“Just that, a friend. We’ve actually worked together in the past.” It wasn’t a lie, per se, but the details of her little expedition down south were still not public knowledge within Rainbow yet. Only Six, the three operators involved, and Monika knew the full story. “I’m actually going to sit with him for a little while, to catch up.”

Ela grinned devilishly at the pair, “You two have fun…”

“Use protection!” Eliza added as Emmanuelle and Dominic began their walk over to his group’s booth.

“They seem like a fun group.” Dom said as they got out of earshot.

“What is it the people say these days… ‘work hard, play hard’?”

Dominic laughed at the smirk on Emmanuelle’s face, nodding in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth… hey guys, look who I found!” He addressed his group as they reached his table. Emmanuelle studied three of the semi-familiar faces at the table, trying to reimagine them each with the associated grime and filth of the Bolivian wildlands that was adhered to them last time they met. Both Weaver and Midas had changed a little, and looked far more relaxed and at ease. The largest difference, though, was Nomad. He’d completely shaven off the beard that he’d been wearing last month, and she idly wondered how he’d look with a nicely trimmed one compared to the bushy monstrosity he’d had previously.

_‘... where did that thought come from?’_

“Goddamn… Twitch?” Midas spoke up, standing up to reach out and shake her hand. “Hell of a place to see you in.”

“Emmanuelle, please,” she returned the handshake, then stepped around to take the empty spot beside Nomad, “and you could say that…”

“Nice to see you again,” Nomad spoke up warmly, and she found herself a little surprised by the sensation that his greeting gave her.

“Likewise, Nomad.” Emmanuelle responded kindly, smiling. “Though I suspect you actually have a _real_ name, like Dom and Corey?”

Nomad laughed at her slightly sassy tone, “That I do. It’s Anthony, but I prefer Tony. And bozo over there,” he said, pointing at Midas, “is Rubio.”

“Tony, Dom, Rubio and Corey… Nomad, Holt, Midas and Weaver…” she experimented, then smirked up at the man. “Not sure which ones sound more ridiculous.”

“From a woman who’s named both Emmanuelle and Twitch, that’s a little bit much,” Dom spoke up, “I mean, that first one’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“If it helps, my friends call me Emma.” She offered, shrugging slightly. Emma then looked over to Corey, and raised her drink in a toast. “ _Toutes nos félicitations_ , Corey, on the newfound freedom.”

Corey laughed and raised his own drink in response, “You heard about that, huh? Not surprised by that…” he shot a pointed look to Dom, who just laughed it off. “It’s been a long time coming, believe me.”

“Hey, I thought Rainbow were up near DC or some shit, not down here in shitty North Carolina?” Rubio chimed in, setting down his large glass of lager.

“We are, but a handful of us are here on a training op with members of ‘America’s finest’,” Emma answered, glancing over towards Tony. “Don’t happen to know who they are, do you?”

“I thought you were arriving in on Monday,” Tony evaded the question with a knowing smirk.

“We _were_ , but some of the others figured we might get in a little early. Figured that we’d steal some time for a little unofficial R and R,” Emma remarked with a small shrug.

Tony nodded appreciatively, “That’s a fair enough call. Just as long as you and the others are all rested up for Monday.”

“Not everyone’s here: Mike, Gustave and Olivier are all back at the hotel, likely sleeping at this hour. Craig said he was meeting some of his friends from Delta at another place in town,” Emma took a sip from her drink, “and Taina just disappeared and is doing her own thing.”

“A statement like that would set off all kinds of alarm bells,” Dom chimed in with an easy smile, “but after having met that chick, I’m not even the slightest bit worried.”

Corey slammed his glass down on the table with a loud sigh, “Damn it guys, we came here to fucking party and celebrate, not talk about work!” Impatiently, he started to climb over the laps of Rubio and the two other men that were accompanying the group, before standing up at the open end of the booth. “I’m hitting the dance floor, who’s with me?”

Dom laughed and shook his head, “I’d rather save myself the embarrassment…”

One of the men Corey climbed over slid out of his seat and stood up beside him, “I’m down.”

“Cheers Dave,” Corey said with a laugh, “You coming Bo?”

“You know what,” the second mad said, smiling, “fuck it, I’m coming.”

Corey then looked at Emma and Tony expectantly. The two shared a look as the music changed to [something a little faster](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xCj8XqfzvTc). Emma looked back at Corey and then began shuffling out of the booth. “You know what, probably wouldn’t hurt to _secouer du cul._ ”

Tony followed after her and the others with an amused laugh, more to watch the spectacle of a more-than-buzzed thirty-four year old soldier dancing in a crowd full of twenty- and thirty-somethings all in varying states of drunkenness. Corey, David and Bo jumped straight in and started to jump around like the rest of the crowd. Emma, however, waited at the edge of the crowd and seemed to be watching him with some expectation.

Caving into her look, Tony closed the distance and accompanied the woman into the crowd, and before long the pair were jumping and moving around together. Through the lights and movement, he could see that Emma was mouthing along with the lyrics amidst her dancing. Time flew along with the songs, and after a while the two emerged from the crowd panting and definitely beginning to feel their age. Whilst the two specialist soldiers were more than physically fit, dancing to fast paced EDM whilst under the influence of alcohol for an extended period of time required a level of stamina that they just did _not_ possess.

They stumbled, from a mixture of fatigue and intoxication, back towards the booth that Emma’s group had occupied, and startled the occupants. Eliza and Julien were still there, though Ela and Mark had disappeared with Elias and Monika taking their place. “Oh, sorry… wrong booth,” Tony mumbled out as he stood up and began to slide back out, but was stopped by the surprisingly firm grip of Emma.

“Actually, Tony, these are _my_ friends,” she pointed out, pulling him back down into the seat. “Guys, this is Tony,” Emma introduced him, “Tony, meet ‘Liza, Jules, Eli’ and ‘Nika. Gracie’s around here somewhere…”

“Actually, she and Ela both went off with some new friends,” Eliza said with a suggestive smirk, reaching out to shake Tony’s hand, “I swear, those two are insatiable sometimes.”

“Not our problem they can’t be tied down,” Emma shot back as Tony and Eliza shook hands, “if anything, I respect them getting a room… unlike a certain couple of _démons bandants_ here…” The woman shot a rather pointed look to the two Germans seated up the far end of the booth, one of whom was caught mid-movement to straddle the lap of the other.

Monika blushed lightly from the combination of the warm air in the venue, the drinks in her system, and the realisation that she’d been busted mid-act. Elias looked less concerned, returning Emma’s mild glare with a smirk of his own, before looking over to Tony, “She’s just jealous because she can’t get _runter und schmutzig_ as frequently as some of us.”

Tony took a cautious glance at the now stammering and flushed Frenchwoman before meeting Elias’ eyes, _“Nicht alle von uns sind exhibitionisten wie manche hier…”_ He chuckled at the stunned reaction of everyone at the table, then sat back in his chair, “I picked up a little _Deutsche_ during a rotation with an army Special Forces Group based in Ramstein AB during my early days.”

Elias grinned at the knowledge, and with his lap now clear of Monika, he leaned forward to look at Tony squarely, “So you are fluent in my tongue, but can you get your tongue around _français_?”

“I know enough to get by…”

“Would you like to?” Elias delivered with a laugh, as both Monika and Eliza reached across the table and tried to whack him in the side and shoulders respectively. Emma had her face buried in the top of the table while Julien leant over and rubbed her back reassuringly. It took a few moments for Tony to catch up to the entendre, but once it clicked he couldn’t help but shake his head and let a few of his own chuckles escape. Emma sat up and gave him a look of absolute betrayal.

Holding his hands up, Tony shrugged, “Hey, I walked into that one, alright?”

“You can stay quiet,” she said, pointing at him with a lone index finger before directing it at Elias, “And you, you little _connard_ , you can get your own _zut_ drinks, okay?”

“It was worth it,” Elias said, wiping a tear from his eye. Rolling her eyes, Emma looked over to Eliza and Julien, who offered her a sympathetic smile in return.

“Well, it was good to meet you all,” Tony began as he stole a glance at his watch to check the time, “but I’ve got a somewhat earlier start than the rest of you tomorrow… your training plan doesn’t write itself, after all.” Emma vacated her seat to let Tony slide out, and took her place once more as the man waved farewell and made his way back over to his group. She didn’t realise she was staring until Eliza poked over in the arm.

“What?”

“You’re staring at the forbidden fruit, girl,” the Israeli-American pointed out with a knowing smile, raising her own hand to point at her ring finger, “you saw the tan line, right? Too distinct to be an old ring mark…”

“I know…” Emma sighed, resting her head on her arms as she looked down at the wooden tabletop, “ _merde_ , why must all the good ones be taken or gay…”


	5. Chapter 5

Twitch groaned as she picked herself up from the dirt, a hand coming up to rub her arm where she’d been hit by a simunition round. To her side, Blitz was busy picking his weapon off the ground, his vest dotted with splotches of red ink, while Rook leant against a nearby tree and pulled his helmet and mask off, looking at the large red splotch in the middle of his helmet’s visor. Mute sat at the base of another tree, his rifle set against the ground and his upper torso riddled with ink.

“Okay, that’s a reset!” Nomad called out as he and his three fellow Ghosts emerged from their hiding places, uniforms and gear free of any kind of ink colour. He lifted his protective face mask and looked at Blitz with a restrained smirk, “Blitz?”

“Got tunnel vizion on the primary threat,” the German answered with a groan as he stretched out, “didn’t see the flanking element…”

Nomad nodded, then looked over to his left where four more of her team were standing, also covered in a series of red marks, “And you?”

“Missed the analogue tripwire to that trip flare,” IQ admitted sheepishly, rubbing the closed screen of her Spectre electronics detector.

“Uh huh,” Nomad said, crossing his arms as he let his weapon hang from a strap. Behind him, Holt, Midas and Weaver all took a seat on a fallen tree log, taking the few moments to rest up. “Look, I understand most of you are still skeptical as to why you’re out here when the vast majority of your operations take place in an urban or built up environment. But there will be times where you’ll have to work outside of an environment that you’re familiar or comfortable with.”

“Unlikely,” Mute muttered out under his breath, though the Ghost leader snapped his head over to look at the SAS trooper.

“ _ When _ that happens,” Nomad said with a pointed look at Mute, “you’ll quickly realise that all of your fancy gadgetry and tools will behave much different than what you’re used to, if they work at all.” He pointed over at Blitz, who was notably shield-less. “Your ballistic shield will get caught up on things like branches and roots,” then over to IQ, “your enemy might revert to using analogue traps that you can’t detect,” and then at Dokkaebi, who was over by IQ and holding her phone up to try and catch a signal, “or you might get out of range of any functional signal for your devices.”

The eight Rainbow operators all shared a series of comprehending looks, the message finally starting to sink in. Dokkaebi sighed loudly, putting her practically useless phone away and crossing her arms over her chest, “So you’re basically teaching us how to fight old school?”

“Not quite,” Weaver spoke up from behind Nomad, “we also use all kinds of fancy shit to get the job done. Difference is, we’re just not dependant on them.”

“Not to mention, even the basics of movement and fighting in an environment like this,” Midas continued, “are much different to fighting inside a house or other structure. Buildings give you a limited number of entrances and exits, a rather contained set of angles and directions that a firefight can occur. Out here,” he gestured to all around him, “you’ve got to watch your three-sixty.”

“Now, if we’re done with all of the theory,” Nomad cut in before anyone else could speak up, “let’s reset and go again one last time, then we can break for lunch.”

* * *

“Can we agree to never mention sim rounds to Six or anyone else from our command cell?” Elias groaned as he sat down at the table with his tray of food, receiving a subdued round of agreement from everyone else there. The ‘one last time’ that Nomad had promised evolved into three, and everyone in the batch of eight slated for training that particular day were in various states of fatigue and pain from the exercises.

However, Blitz and his teammates had to concede to the Ghosts and their rather  _ unconventional _ training methodology. Rainbow trained for how they fought and for what they might encounter: hostage rescues, bomb defusal, asset protection, so on and so on, and their training reflected that: close-quarters kill houses, timed runs on simulated explosive charges, etc.

The Ghosts… well, the best way to describe the training to this point was a highly elaborate and high stakes game of Capture The Flag. Large play area, simunitions, full hand-to-hand, communications equipment, and one life per player. Not to mention that there were three flags in play: one at each ‘base camp’ and a third placed right in the centre. Teams had to secure all three flags back at their camp to claim the win. 

The current score: Ghosts with five wins for the day. Rainbow, zero.

“I think Meg’s already drafted up a requisition to send upstairs,” Miles grumbled, a hand pressing an ice pack to his shoulder. He’d been taken by surprise by a hidden away Midas during one grueling round, and had landed upon a rather hard tree branch. It was only after the Ghost had claimed his ‘kill’ did they actually recognise that Miles had been hurt significantly, and the FBI operator was subsequently escorted off the field and to the base’s infirmary for treatment. In the end, he’d pulled a muscle and bruised rather badly, but had escaped any serious injury.

“ _ Ach scheiße… _ ” muttered Elias at Mile’s revelation, a sentiment shared by the rest of the team.

“I really don’t see the point in all this,” Julien spoke up after a few minutes of silent eating, “I understand what that guy said back in the field earlier, but let’s be real: when was the last time any of our operations took us out into the forest?”

“There’s been a couple of occasions,” Ash began, glancing over to Miles with a thoughtful expression, “when we’ve raided a suspected hideout in the more rural areas where the suspects have fled into the nearby bushland.”

“Generally the chase is rather short as those suspects either run out of steam and surrender,” Miles added, looking over to Julien, “or run into the cordon set up by the local law enforcement that are working with us. But we personally haven’t had to spend an extended amount of time in those conditions.”

“I’ve had to visit the woods a few times for different missions and training exercises,” Mute speaks up, “but since joining Rainbow, it’s been mostly cities and towns. Haven’t gotten my boots muddy in ages.”

“I don’t think any of us have worn woodland fatigues since we entered basic training,” Julien pointed out.

“I’m having fun,” Grace spoke up, catching everyone by surprise, “everything we did back in Korea was by the book, ‘no fun allowed’.” The Korean shrugged and smirked, “I don’t see why everyone else is upset. Would you rather be in a stuffy shoothouse running through assaults day in and day out, or playing an elaborate game of cat and mouse outdoors?”

“She’s got a point… as painful as it is, you have to admit that it’s actually pretty fun, getting to shoot at each other,” Monika said with a small smile before it morphed into a mischievous smirk. “It’s actually a shame Dom or Marius aren’t here…”

“Just don’t let Jordan have one, whatever you do,” Eliza pleaded to everyone else’s amusement.

* * *

Across the mess hall, Nomad and his Ghosts sat at their own table and were wrapping up their own little debriefing. “Tomorrow, we’re running them through trap detection, avoidance and disarmament,” he read off of his ruggedised tablet, looking up at the others for acknowledgelment, “after which we’ll take ‘em through another series of force-on-force games.”

“Sounds good,” Holt said with a smirk, “we going full contact again?”

“I don’t see any reason not to,” Nomad answered, closing the tablet and setting it down onto the tabletop.

“You just seem a bit  _ twitchy _ these last couple of days,” Weaver spoke with a mildly suggestive tone, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. Midas was stifling a chuckle and shaking his head.

“... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nomad opted to deny the barely hidden subtext of his comment.

“Come on, Tony,” Holt continued on, “You can’t be that blind. Have you seen the way that she’s looked at you the last couple of days?”

“Or that night at the bar just before?” Midas finally chimed in, taking a look over at the Rainbow specialists as they talked amongst themselves. “She wants you, man.”

“She also knows I’m married and have a kid.”

“Are you really, though?” Weaver questioned him, voice suddenly serious. “I can’t remember the last time you were legitimately happy to go home for a long time now.”

Holt nodded in agreement, “Yeah Tony, I mean, we’ve all heard you mention how Jeremy’s practically shut you out of his life…”

Nomad focused his gaze on the table, absently shaking his head at the comments from his team. “I’m not throwing in the towel, okay? I’m still working on it all.”

“Dude,” Midas spoke up, “what’s the point if you’re the only one putting the effort into making it work?”

He looked up and fixed his team member with a small frown, “Aren’t you the one always going on about how wonderful your wife and kids are?”

“I do, because it’s a full team effort. Everyone gives it their all, even when I’m not there. You, Angela, and Jeremy?” Midas shook his head, “I don’t think it’s going to work out for you in the long run.”

“I’m  _ not _ giving up,” Nomad said firmly, gathering the files in front of him. “Now, if we’re done discussing my family life…” he trailed off, leveling a small glare at each member of his team.

“Message received boss,” Holt responded with a curt nod. The three Ghosts collected the remains of their meals as well as their own files, leaving Nomad to himself at the table. He hung his head and sighed out of frustration, partly at his teams topic of conversation, and partly because they were  _ right. _

Despite all of his efforts, all of his work and energy, his relationship between him and his wife was deteriorating. The few weeks he’d been home for now had been an unpleasant, but now expected, cycle of deja vu: Jeremy remained standoff-ish for the first few days while Angela tended to cling more to his side when she could help it. Then after that, the clingy-ness would disappear and she’d be back to making offhand remarks about him disappearing again.

They loved each other deeply, he was sure of it, but they never had the proper chance to each make it known to the other person. Nomad knew he was next in line to be ‘booted upstairs’ as the others called it: it was just a matter of time now. Once he got the admin and command job, he’d be home a lot more and subsequently be able to actually live  _ with _ his family, not just  _ around _ them like he’d been doing for most of their marriage.

Nomad just hoped to high heaven that he’d get that chance.

* * *

“You’re what?” Tony said, eyes wide in shock as he stood in the kitchen area, all but physically winded at Angela’s surprise statement.

“It’s only for a week, max,” Angela said, eyes focused on the sink in front of her as she dried up the last glass that needed cleaning, “I just… look, I’m starting to wonder if we can even keep this up any longer.” Tony opened his mouth to counter but she rose a finger to his lips, “I know you said that you’ll have no more field work anymore, but you and I both know that you can’t promise that. You said that you’d be seeing less work when you made Major, but I see even  _ less _ of you now.”

Angela set the glass away in its place in a cupboard above the sink, then turned around to face Tony, who leant against the counter across from her. “This is different,” he began, a little surprised at how desperate his voice was beginning to sound, almost like he was trying to convince himself, “Scott never leaves base unless it’s a major scenario or something, and I can’t even remember the last time our CO got his uniform dirty.”

“It doesn’t matter, Anthony,” Angela said, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. Tony felt his heart recoil at the use of his first name, and fell silent as she continued, “even if it isn’t for whatever kind of thing you actually  _ do, _ you’ll still be away from home: either staying at the base for days on end, or flying out to Washington or California or whatever other bases that you end up having to go to as an command officer. You’re still not  _ here _ .”

“I’m trying the best I can, Angie… you know this…”

“Sometimes, I don’t think you are…” she said quietly, wiping a tear away from her eye before it could fall, “one week, Anthony… I need an answer before that week’s up: the Army, or  _ me. _ ”

“You can’t make me choose, not in just one week…”

Angela bit back a quiet sob, and looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, “The fact that you even need to  _ say _ that…” she shook her head and pushed off the counter, stepping out of the kitchen and down the hallway before Tony could catch her. He clenched his fists out of frustration with himself than out of anything else.


	6. Chapter 6

_ “I'm so fucking sick of everyone’s lack of honour; I'm so sick of everyone’s willingness to settle; Why is no one prepared to die for anything?” _ Nomad extended his arms up and out from his body as the motivational screaming of Rob Bailey blared from within his earphones, the bar clear of his chest and how hovering above him,  _ “I don’t need a reason! I don’t need to think about it! I’m going to stand right the fuck here, and take this to my fucking chest!” _

He held the ninety pound weights extended until the pre-chorus of the song began, lowering it back down to his chest as his arms burned under the strain. The pain was welcome though, in his opinion, compared to the varying injuries he’d sustained throughout his career.

It was nothing compared to the pain of spending last night alone in his bed at his house. Angela and Jeremy had finished packing just after dinner, departing soon after that and leaving him by himself for what would either be a week or for much longer, depending on his decision.

The thought of choosing his relationship or his career generated a sense of anxiety that he’d never encountered before, and he resolved himself to throw himself into his work as a distraction, and as a release for his building stress and anxiousness.

The early morning, for his standards at least, workout was the opening salvo of his self-imposed campaign. By doing this, he’d burn up the excess adrenaline that had built up overnight as he tried to sleep, as well as give him a task that he couldn’t go into full autopilot with, like running out on the base or on a treadmill: lifting demanded focus for both his form and his safety.

Especially as he was lifting without a spotter.

Not necessarily was that his fault, given the early hour of the morning it was. The rest of the team were due to arrive in an hour and a half, with their ‘students’ to follow an hour later.

The operators from Rainbow had been taking their lessons to heart, which reassured Nomad to no small amount. It told him that not only was he an effective teacher, but warfare and combat wasn’t yet heavily dependent on who had the technological advantage. It was a sentiment shared he shared with Rainbow’s senior field officer, SAS Captain Mike Baker.

The older soldier was a treasure trove of information on tactics and techniques, some of which Nomad recognised from his days in Delta, and the man himself was as wise as he was fierce. No doubt about that if Thatcher, as he was known as to his fellow operators, was rolling around in Bolivia with the Ghosts, El Sue ñ o would’ve abandoned Santa Muerte and started a cult of Santo Thatcher instead.

“You’re here early.”

The soft voice threw Nomad off focus for a moment, and he lifted the bar up to set it in the rack before he sat up to see who the newcomer was. To his surprise, it was Twitch. He pulled up the neck of his tank top to wipe his brow, then spun himself around on the bench to face her properly, “I could say the same.”

“The early bird gets the worm, does it not?” She riposted, smiling as she walked past him and over towards the treadmills. Nomad couldn’t take his eyes off of her, not with the navy blue sports bra and thigh-hugging gym leggings she was wearing serving to highlight her lean and toned figure. His eyes travelled up her legs, across her firm behind, along her back and up to her shoulder blades, where he quickly broke off as he saw that she was looking back over her shoulder back at him with a small smirk.

He got busted checking her out, and she knew that he knew that she busted him checking her out. “What’s your routine, if you don’t mind me asking?” Nomad asked in an effort to deflect the obvious.

“Cardio and endurance, mostly,” Twitch answered from across the room, setting a small towel and her water bottle down on the floor beside the treadmill before she started her series of warm up stretches. “I’m not predominantly an assaulter like the others, or like you.”

“No, I remember that… you hung back a bit during our little joint op,” Nomad recalled, “that and your choice of weapons tends to give that away too. Can’t imaging it too easy to wield a sixteen inch Four-Seventeen with a magnified optic around in a close-quarters fight.

Twitch straightened up from her stretch and quirked an eyebrow at the Ghost with an amused smile on her face, “Says the man who carries a Stoner LMG A1 into the tight confines of the jungle…”

“Touché,” Nomad smiled back, chuckling at her riposte, “I guess that means you’re either stuck in the control room on up on a rooftop, right?”

“Not necessarily,” she stated, activating the treadmill and swiftly stepping on with a gracefulness not normally witnessed by Nomad, “My other weapon is a FAMAS F2, tweaked to my liking.”

Nomad nodded approvingly, having encountered a handful of F1  _ and _ F2 wielding enemies during his career in the Ghosts. As he mused, his gaze refocused on Twitch’s behind, the muscles of her taught gluteus maximus slightly bouncing in her leggings with each jogging step she took, catching the man in a semi-hypnotic trance.

Twitch continued on, masking a satisfied smile as she was not completely unaware on the effect she was having on him, “Often times I’m right in there with the others to help scout ahead rooms with my compact shock drones: small enough to get into tight spaces yet large enough to pack a multi-shot electric stun device.”

He nodded understandingly, “So not quite the tip of the spear then.”

“In a way of speaking, yes. If anything, I form the shield with either Gilles, Elias or Morowa,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder, noting the way his eyes flicked up from her rear and back to her own eyes. If he knew she had caught him he hid it well.

“Right,” Nomad started, turning around to stand up from the bench and pack away the weights he’d been using, “Your drones really came in handy during our joint ops down south. Never properly got the chance to thank you for all that.”

“No thanks needed, though I will admit that this little school you’re putting us through is definitely teaching me a few things.” When Nomad didn’t respond, she continued, “Us tactical law enforcement officers don’t get much exposure to extended field operations like our full military counterparts do. As you pointed out, most of our work is done in urban environments. Even after myself and the others were recruited into Rainbow, our operational environment didn’t exactly change.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Nomad finally spoke up, taking the machine by her side, “to expand your capabilities and refine your tactics. You never know when you’re going to have to camp out near a target or hit someone who’s in a remote area.”

The pair lapsed into a comfortable silence as Nomad began his run, the pair saving their breath for the workout. As he ran, he noted just how at ease he felt with Twitch around him, similar to the ease that he felt whenever he returned home and was reunited with Angela early on in his military career. It was similar and dissimilar at the same time, as with Twitch he didn’t have to watch what he said at all times, nor have to try and speak civilian whenever he got worked up.

They shared similar backgrounds, had similar experiences, and could relate with what the other had gone through in the past. That connection existed naturally without requiring any extra effort on his or her part. It didn’t hurt that Emmanuelle was attractive in her own subtle fashi-

Nomad recoiled internally, almost stumbling on the treadmill and coming close to introducing his face with the tough rubber tread belt, as he realised just exactly where his present train of thought was heading. He gave himself a mental kick in the ass for even entertaining the thoughts in the first place; he was a married man for goodness sake.

Wordlessly, he finished up his mile and dismounted the treadmill, collecting his belongings and vacating the gym in a rush, all while Twitch watched on with concern laces in her eyes.

* * *

“Is Anthony alright?”

Weaver looked up from the rifle resting in his lap up to the camouflaged Frenchwoman who had taken a squatting position in front of him. They were all out in the field again today, playing a four-team round of what they’d been told was “The Game” by Nomad and Weaver.

Groups of four or five spend a day and have to survive until the end while also hunting members of the other teams. Close range stealth kills were encouraged due to the nature of the game and the area they were playing in: the dense wooded space prevented longer range rifle engagements, but provided excellent cover and concealment for traps and close range shots.

The twist in today’s game? Each squad was being lead by a Ghost, with Weaver leading herself, Rook, Mute and Blitz.

“What do you mean?” He questioned back, his tone quiet so not to betray his position to anyone else that might’ve been listening in and not ‘friendly’.

“He’s been standoffish lately,” Twitch pointed out, stealing a glance over her shoulder before looking at at him, “I thought you might have a little more insight into his world.”

The marksman shook his head before shifting down from the fallen tree he’d been sitting on to get closer to ground level, “And if I did, what makes it your right to know?”

Twitch frowned, put off by Weaver’s defensive attitude, “I understand that you’re looking out for your friend, but I’m worried about him too. We were talking in the gym earlier and he wasn’t exactly himself.”

“You’ve spent what, a collective week or so together and you think you’ve worked him out?” Weaver shook his head with a quiet chuckle, then sighed, “Look, it’s not really my place to say…”

“But…” she said quietly with a playful smirk, to which he rolled his eyes.

“... but, well, he’s got trouble at home right now. Angie’s thrown down the hatchet and told him that it’s either her and Jeremy or the job, and that he can’t have both.”

The pair sat silently as Twitch processed that piece of information, “That’s rather extreme, is it not?”

Weaver shrugged, “Hey, I got practically the same thing from my ex-wife. I rationalised it my own way: figured that if she wasn’t willing to stick around then we’d be better off cutting each other loose.” The man chuckled and shook his head, “Best move I’ve made this year… thing is, Tony’s not one to give up on anyone or anything. It’s killing me and the other to see him go through this bullshit, but it’s not like we can make him change his mind.”

“I can admire a man who doesn’t want to throw the towel in at the first signs of trouble,” she said, staring off into the distance, before quickly shooting an apologetic glance at Weaver, “no offense.”

Weaver waved her off, “Nah, I know what you mean… I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at him, by the way.” He started to laugh quietly when he saw Twitch stiffen up and her eyes widen in surprise. “You think you’re being sneaky, but you aren’t.”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, he’s a married man.”

“Funny that, I told him the same thing back in Bolivia as you were walking away,” the man said as he picked up his weapon and got to his feet. “Come on, break’s over now. I’m sure the others have all killed each other off or have gotten close to it.”

For the rest of the round, Twitch dwelled over Weaver’s words, especially of what he’d said in Bolivia. As much as it unsettled her to admit it, she was rather taken by the Ghost. Now, the inkling that the feelings might be mutual shed a whole new light on how evasive Nomad had been much earlier that morning.

* * *

“Twenty bucks.” Ash said firmly, folding her arms across her chest.

“Only twenty? You cheaping out on me, Cohen?” Blitz questioned.

“Not in the slightest. But I know if I go over thirty, then the rest of you are going to blow your week’s pay on a stupid bet.”

Twitch’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she approached the rest of her fellow Rainbow operators in the mess hall. Curious, she crossed her arms and hung back as she listened in, eager to hear this play out.

“I’ll throw in twenty five then, if that pleases  _ eure majestät _ ?” Blitz spoke with a cocky tone, “and it’ll be just before we leave.”

“I’ll call that,” Ela matched the German’s tone with one of confidence, fishing out the requisite amount from her wallet and placing it upon the slowly growing pile of cash on the tabletop. Twitch watched as a grumbling IQ, Castle and Blackbeard all pulled out their own wallets and contributed to the stack.

Dokkaebi, who was sat at the end, reached over and pulled the pile towards her, “Okay then, it’s settled. I’ve noted down your outcomes, winner gets the pot and bragging rights.” She pulled her beanie off and stashed the money in there before placing it back on her head, and Twitch decided it was the right time to approach.

“I take it that Baker doesn’t know about this little transaction?” She spoke as she stood behind Grace with an amused smile, scanning the faces of the other operators.

Mute laughed and shrugged, “Hey, what old mate doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘im. Besides, if Six two-point-oh is getting in on the action, that must make it okay.” He shot a meaningful look over to Ash, who rolled her eyes and flipped him off in response.

“Between missions, training, your meetings with Six and your trysts with Thermite, I’m surprised you have the time to place a bet…” Twitch smirked as the Israeli-American operator frowned and blushed, avoiding her eyes.

“How many times do I have to tell you… Jordan is a professional-”

“Oh really?” Blitz jumped in, “Is he  _ that _ good?”

“Dare I ask what we’re all betting on, or am I better off living in the bliss that is ignorance?” Twitch interrupted before the two operators jumped into a fist fight. She had to give the woman credit: Ash knew her hand-to-hand combat well, and was one of the few of their group that had managed to put down any of the Ghosts during their stay. 

Craig stretched his arms out and yawned, “I think it’s better if you’re not caught up in this one, Twitch. It’s not that real interesting anyway.”

Twitch quirked an eyebrow at him, “Says the man who put twenty-five dollars down into said bet.” She reached into her pockets for her own wallet, and withdrew a ten dollar note. “It’s all the cash I have on hand right now, but what’s the bet?”

“Just a silly bet on whether a mission will drop down where one of us is needed while we’re on this exercise,” Monika explained dismissively, “nothing really special. I claimed we’re safe as the other half of the team has us covered.  _ Dummkopf  _ over here,” she slapped Blitz playfully on the shoulder, “thinks we’ll be called out just before we’re due to leave, and everyone else is giving the same kind of time.”

“So what’s your position?” Grace asked, looking up at where Twitch was standing beside her.

“I’ll play it safe, and say we won’t be called out. Like ‘Nika said, the others have us covered.” Twitch answered, handing the note down to Dokkaebi who stashed it inside her beanie. “Now, if memory serves me right, and it usually does, we have another early start in the morning… I shall bid you all  _ adieu. _ ”

They all watched as Twitch left the mess before sighing a breath of relief. “Quick thinking there, Monika… knew there’s more than one reason why they call you IQ.”

She glanced at Castle, who had given her the compliment, “Well, would you have preferred me tell her that we’re betting on her and Nomad banging before we leave?” She let the question hang for a few seconds, “No? Thought so.”


	7. Chapter 7

Twitch tried to steady her breathing as she crouched low by the base of a thick tree, and wiped her brow of the beads of sweat forming on her face. Two flags were bundled up in a pouch on the front of her vest, the owners of each well and truly on the hunt for her now. She’d had a few close calls: Grace and Eliza had both put in a decent effort at trying to catch her after she’d stolen their flag; Ela had put up a strong fight when they crossed paths after she had managed to escape with the other flag.

Everyone else on her team as well as almost everyone else had taken each other out in the earlier stages of the round. The rest of her own squad had been eliminated, leaving her by herself to capture the objectives. The only players that she knew were left were Caveira and Nomad of one team, and IQ from the other.

And for the slow trek back to her own team’s encampment, she hadn’t seen any of them. The relative silence during her return kept her nerves unsettled, much like if she was navigating through a series of quiet and dark hallways in a large building. It wasn’t the first time she found herself wanting to duck into cover and use one of her shock drones to scout the area ahead. However, the thick foliage on the ground rendered her drones useless: not only would the thick brush jam the wheels up real quick, but it’d also make it hard to view the surroundings through the camera as the leaves and brush obscured the camera’s vision.

It was one of the many realisations that herself and the others had made in the time with the Ghosts; just how dependant they were in their technology to fight. But the ‘classes’, as Holt had called them off handedly, weren’t just to highlight the negatives of using their equipment in rough terrains, but also to learn how to adapt their gear to use it: Ash now was able to use her special breaching drill rounds to cut down trees; Mute’s signal jammer was adapted for use in a backpack and now made man-portable; Dokkaebi now able to use her slim and agile stature to quickly scale trees for signal as well as drop down onto her targets from above.

Not to mention that they’d been given a masterclass in old school gunfighting, and on how to use the natural environment to their advantage: tracking, noise management, camouflage and concealment, all of the basics and tried-and-tested methods of warfare were refined upon and refined upon until it became muscle memory.

Twitch would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t feel more confident in fighting in the heavily wooded terrain than she did earlier. The rest of her team would wholeheartedly agree with her.

The sound of a twig snapping to her left stopped her dead in her tracks, and she crouched down real low to minimise her profile as she listened for more potential movement in the distance. Sure enough, there was another small rustle of leaves in the same direction, and Twitch took careful steps backwards towards a large fallen tree to use as cover as she waited out for the potential threat to reveal itself.

Minutes passed as she hid, and from her position she had a clear view of the direction that the sounds had come from. Yet nothing or noone had revealed themselves. Frowning slightly, Twitch slowly stood up from her hiding place and continued on her path back to her team’s encampment. She didn’t get too far though, as after a minute passed, she heard the unmistakable crunching of boots rushing towards her position.

Twitch had barely a moment to evade, and as she sidestepped to her right she caught sight of her aggressor, Nomad. He was wearing the same kind of attire he’d worn in Bolivia; a dull red t-shirt, brown field pants, his tactical vest and that same blue baseball cap.

Smirking, she quickly pressed onto the offensive, closing the distance as she tried to get the upper hand before the man could recover and restart his attack. Striking out with a foot, she lunged and tried to catch him in the back of one of his knees. Unfortunately, she was just a second too slow as he managed to shift to his left and narrowly avoid the blow.

Nomad kept his momentum and spun, a gloved hand windmilling out at Twitch’s head level and clipping her in the cheek with enough force to make her flinch back from reflexive shock. Shaking off the stun, Twitch pressed in again and tried to knock him off balance with another kick to his legs, Nomad catching it in his arms and throwing her leg back and pushing her off balance.

Twitch fell back and landed onto the ground face up, and she watched as Nomad moved to dive onto her and attempt to subdue her. Waiting for the last moment, she kicked her legs up and out, catching him in the chest and essentially throwing him over the top of her. She didn’t see where he landed, but a muffled expletive gave her the indication that he had landed hard.

Nomad groaned as he picked himself up from where he had landed, against a tree stump, and rubbed the area under his chest where his vest had taken most of the impact. Even with the plates, it was sure to leave a nasty bruise there soon. Shaking off the soreness, he turned to see Twitch on her feet and approaching him with her training knife drawn and held in a reverse grip.

Twitch smirked underneath her mask, and lunged at the man with her empty left hand out front, the right with the knife held close as to keep Nomad from trying to disarm her prematurely. Sure enough, he reacted and moved to seize her left, and Twitch ducked down to attempt a slash at his left pant leg in response.

Nomad jumped back with Twitch’s hand still in his grasp, pulling her off balance and forcing her to stumble during her lunge. Twisting around, Nomad swung her around and threw her into the side of a tree, bending her arm around her back and restraining her as he pressed her firmly against it.

“I think that’s now a kill, right?” He taunted quietly, only to yelp in a mixture of shock and pain as Twitch threw her head back and struck him in the nose. Surprised by the cheap blow, he’d released her arm, and was forced back a few feet by a series of rapid kicks and arm strikes that Twitch unleashed on him once she’d gotten free.

A final kick sent the man backwards, one of his feet catching a tree root and causing him to trip over and fall flat onto his back. Winded, Nomad struggled to collect himself, and in no time had Twitch straddling his lap. She held her training knife against his neck and pressed it against him, the soft felt-covered edge leaving a solid line of red ink drawn across the windpipe and both major arteries. If it were a real blade, Nomad would have no chance of survival.

Breathing deeply, Twitch sat up and re-sheathed the blade, satisfied with the fight. “And they say you can’t kill a Ghost, huh?” Before Nomad could shoot back a retort, he found his vision filled by black followed by the sensation of lips quickly pressed against his. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, and his vision returned to reveal her masked face hovering barely an inch above his. “Consider that a small consolation prize… now if you’ll _excusez-moi…”_ The Frenchwoman climbed off of his lap and quickly disappeared into the brush, leaving the Ghost supine and stunned on the ground, both his heart and mind racing at a thousand miles an hour.

“So… she caught you?” A voice called out from the side, and Nomad turned his head to watch Caveira quietly emerge from the dense scrub with an amused smirk on her skull-painted face.

“I wasn’t aware the GIGN taught hand-to-hand like that…” Nomad answered once he caught his breath, sitting up and shaking his head bemusedly.

“They don’t,” Caveira stated simply, walking over to squad beside her fallen team member. Nomad studied her face for a moment before he started chuckling to himself.

“Right…” he begun, brushing off the dirt as he picked himself up off the ground, “of course you taught her… don’t know why I’m surprised.”

“You underestimated her, and you paid the price.” Caveira stood by his side and looked at the direction where her fellow Rainbow operator had run off to, “That was your first mistake.”

Nomad rubbed his neck, studying the small tinge of red that remained on his glove, “No kidding.”

Caveira gave him a side-eyed glance and rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t talking about the fight.”

“You don’t say…”

* * *

One win and an extremely smug Twitch later, the Ghosts and Rainbow operators had returned back to the base from the training area to clean up after the exercise, collect dinner, begin packing their belongings, and unwind for the rest of the evening. They were scheduled for departure the following night, and the day tomorrow was for their own rest and relaxation before they returned home to cover the rest of the team’s own training exercise next month.

Nomad rubbed his face tiredly as he leant against a counter in the small kitchenette that the staff in the headquarters block used for snacks and drinks throughout the day, waiting for a fresh batch of coffee to finish brewing. His mind was racing despite the calm facade he had currently in place: the deadline for Angela’s ultimatum was looming ever closer; Buzz was hinting more and more towards his eventual move into the battalion command element; and Twitch’s apparent interest in him was the icing on top.

He wasn’t completely sure on his feelings towards her. Professionally, she was an extremely capable and competent operator that provided a unique tactical advantage. Objectively, she was a very attractive woman that part of him would not mind to get to know much better if the chance arose. Rationally, he was still a married man and despite his chances, still strived to salvage and rebuild whatever was left of his marriage and family.

In the back of his mind, a voice was making a snide comment about having his cake and eating it too, but he brushed it aside as the coffee maker buzzed and finished dispensing his hot drink. He emptied a small sugar packet into the mug and carried it back towards his desk, sitting down and sighing to himself as he took a sip. His eyes flicked over to a framed picture of himself, Angela and Jeremy, taken many years ago when they were a much happier family.

The three of them were smiling broadly with a picture of one of Hawaii’s volcanoes in the distance behind them. It had been taken during a combination training rotation and vacation, one of the few times that the three of them together had taken time off and actually gone someplace else to enjoy themselves. The memories of the trip were bittersweet, having occurred years ago. Jeremy only reached his elbows back then, his son now standing up in line with his shoulders. Despite being off the continent, he still had to be in contact back with his command in the event he was recalled for an urgent mission, something that Angela had made her displeasure clear about multiple times in the lead up to and during that holiday.

Sighing, he returned the picture to his desk and leant back in his chair, taking a large pull from his coffee as he thought over his career and his family. Kingslayer was his last major operation that he would be directly involved in. Everything else from this point forward would be either supervisory work in the field, or back at base and calling the shots from here. A pilot he knew as part of their ‘sister’ unit in the Air Force, the High Altitude Warfare Experimental squadron or HAWX as they were known, called a promotion and assignment to a command position as ‘flying the brown bomber’.

“You’re still here?” Scott Mitchell said as he took his seat at the desk across from Nomad.

“Just some last minute paperwork that needed doing, gotta sign off Rainbow to say they passed our classes.” As strange as it sounded out loud, it was the truth. Rainbow’s director, the enigmatic Six, had requested that the Ghosts officially sign off on the Rainbow operators training records. “What about you?”

“Couple of hot spots in Russia I’m watching over, might have to send Ferg’s team over to cool things down.” Scott answered, referring to one of the other Ghost team leaders, the newly promoted Cedric Ferguson. “That’ll be one of your jobs soon enough.”

Nomad rolled his eyes. “Looking forward to it,” he said dryly as he called up the files pertaining to Rainbow’s ‘jungle warfare’ qualifications. He finished up the forms rather quickly, then flipped over to his secure email system to quickly double check his inbox. Rather curiously, there was a new message from Lieutenant Colonel Gordon.

_Tony,_

_It’s probably no secret that you’re going to be bumped up into the Ghost’s command cell in the coming months. In order to better prepare yourself for the politics involved with calling the shots, I’m sending you to attend a counter-terrorism summit next month in Washington D.C._

_Tickets, accomodation and all of that nonsense has been covered by the DoD. I just need your stubborn ass there so we can check that box and move you up officially._

_\- Lt Col Gordon._

Nomad rubbed his face as he printed out the email and its attachments, looking at the tickets and itinerary. Scott leaned over and caught a glimpse of the print outs and started to chuckle quietly. “I went to that same conference when it was my turn to be bumped up. There’s a lot of hand shaking, ass kissing, et cetera, et cetera,” he waved a hand dismissively, “but it’s three days in DC on the government’s tab, so it’s not all that bad. Beats a firefight in Georgia or Bolivia, I’d imagine.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to get back to you on that… shit, Angie’s not going to be happy about this.”

Scott winced, “That’s right, she gave you that ultimatum… work out what you’re going to do?”

“Beg like hell and hope for the best.”

* * *

Nomad yawned to himself as he turned into the final street before he arrived home, having spent the night at the base to save him driving tired and potentially falling asleep at the wheel. He’d seen the members of Rainbow off for their departure earlier that morning, sharing a few parting words with each of them before they left back to their own headquarters, returned to the office to send off the filled qualifications to Six, then left the base to spend the day at home as per Buzz’s instructions.

Why his commander was pressing him to take time off was still a mystery to Nomad, but he figured with just how hard he’d been working lately that he was deserving of a day off.

Furthermore, it was the day that he was due to give Angela an answer to her ultimatum. He needed the day to plan just how he was going to respond in a way that kept everyone as happy as they can.

Nomad turned into his driveway and brought the car to a stop, then got out and walked up to his front door. Opening it, he stepped inside and instantly he felt something was not right. He shut the door behind him quietly, then drew the M9A1 he kept holstered in his belt out into his hand, holding it low.

Both hands around the sidearm, he started to slowly step down the hallway from the foyer of the home, eyes on a swivel as he studied everything around him. There were a few pictures missing from the walls, and as he proceeded into the living room he observed that even more pictures and other belongings had disappeared: some DVDs and CDs that were kept in a display cabinet, a couple of ornaments that Angela had bought over the years, the jacket that Jeremy kept draped over one of the ends of the couch.

Nomad’s gut started to sink as he started putting the pieces together, and he holstered his sidearm and made his way into the bedroom. Sure enough, the closet was wide open and all of Angela’s clothes as well as her suitcases were missing, along with her jewelry and other possessions.

The only thing of hers that was left behind was a gold ring, resting atop a folded piece of paper. Hand shaking, Nomad slid the letter out from underneath the ring and opened it up.

_Anthony,_

_I know you’re smart enough to know what this letter means, so I won’t bother with waxing poetic._

_I can’t be with you any more. I just can’t. I’ve tried and tried, been by your side thick and thin but I just can’t do it, not any more. I came to realise this when I was with my parents, when I didn’t need to worry about you every day._

_I know that you want to try and make us work despite all of our difficulties lately, and I admire that part of you. But deep down, I_ know _that you know that this was bound to happen._

_You’ve noticed that I’ve taken everything that was mine that I need. Anything that we shared I’ve left for you if you want to keep it. If not, then it’s yours to do whatever with. Jeremy’s collected all of his stuff too, but knowing him he’s likely left_ something _behind. For his sake, could you just please double check his room for him?_

_I’m going to talk to an attorney and get the papers written up, and then I’ll bring them to you myself. It’s the least I can do for you, given the circumstances. I know that leaving while you were busy wasn’t fair on you at all, and I can understand if you’re angry at me for that. But I felt that this was something that needed to be done sooner rather than later._

_I’m really sorry that things had to end this way, Tony. But this had to happen._

_Goodbye,_

_Angela_


	8. Chapter 8

Wake up. Shower. Prepare and eat breakfast and coffee. Drive to the base. Sign in. Fire up his workstation. Daily morning briefing with Buzz and the rest of the command unit. Read up on current threat assessments and reports from recent missions that the unit had completed. Lunch with his team. More paperwork and reading. A small stint at the range. Sign out. Drive back to his house. Cook and eat dinner. Shower. Retire to his bed and sleep.

Repeat.

The pattern had been something he developed the second day after Angela and Jeremy’s shock departure, acting as somewhat of a defense mechanism to keep him from completely breaking down. The first week had been rather touch and go, with the Lieutenant Colonel, Mitchell, and the other three Ghosts on his team all noticing his sudden change in demeanour and all cautiously asking him what had happened.

His lack of response and unusual aversion to talk about anything outside of the Ghost’s operations gave them enough indication towards the cause, and they respectively let him cope in his own way. Sadly, a family falling apart due to the Ghost’s ultra-secretive nature and unpredictable operational tempo wasn’t an uncommon occurrence: Midas was one of the few exceptions, still happily married and fathering four kids.

After the second week, the routine that Nomad had fallen in to was now something he conducted from muscle memory, throwing himself into his work moreso than he ever had before.

‘ _What else can I do now’_ , he rationalised to himself, distracting himself from any thoughts even directly related to Angela or Jeremy. Deep down, he felt conflicted. Even though their separation was relatively painless, part of him felt almost relieved by the move. He felt guilty for having his shoulders feel lighter than they had in ages. The weight of the world wasn’t pressing down on him, and he felt _bad_ because of it.

“...even listening to me, son?” Lt Col Gordon’s voice showed his frustration but lacked the sternness behind it, and Nomad shook his head briefly to bring his focus back in line, and he looked to where Harold had taken a seated position on the edge of his desk.

“Sorry, sir…” Nomad responded quietly, not quite meeting his commander’s eyes. Harold shook his head in worry.

“I was just reminding you that you have that conference to attend next week,” the older man said, tapping at a small calendar that was sitting off to the side of Nomad’s desk, “... I know you’re sick of hearing it, but are you really okay?”

Nomad fought the urge to roll his eyes, instead closing them and taking a slow breath in through his nose. “I’m as well as I can be, sir… you don’t need to worry about me.” He didn’t wait for his superior to dismiss him as he stood up from his desk and left the office area rather briskly.

Harold sighed and shook his head once more with worry, sharing a concerned glance with Major Mitchell as the pair watched Nomad leave.

* * *

Twitch hummed along with the song playing through her phone’s speakers as she finished up a line of solder on a circuit board. It was a component for the prototype of a revised model of her shock drones, an RSD Model 2. She had been contemplating introducing an additional high-pressure waterjet nozzle alongside the electrical stun wire as a countermeasure for sensitive devices such as IEDs or as an additional method to harass whomever she targeted through her PDA.

It did require some work to incorporate the new device into the gadget: waterproofing the internals to prevent corrosion or a power short due to any potential water leaks; a small water reservoir and pressurisation system; the pipes and nozzle. It did require sacrificing two of the stun launchers to make room for the new components, but theoretically the new addition allowed her to engage and disable more devices.

“~Oooooo, I don’t wanna be like that though~,” she sang quietly, hands setting down the soldering iron and reaching for a small pair of tweezers, “~Better grow a fucking backbone.~” Her head bobbed lightly as the beat of the song quickly dropped into a series of melodic tones.

This kind of music wasn’t her first choice, but after overhearing Blitz’s own phone playing this particular song during a session in the base’s gym one day, she would be loathe to admit that the song was growing on her.

“~Hit me like a train, novocaine to the face all day~,” tweezers holding a new component in place, she retrieve the iron with her free hand and effortlessly fixed it to the circuit board, “~lock it like a chain in my brain, lace it in my veins.”

“Pichon.” The voice from behind startled her, the hot iron nearly slipping from her hands and burning her. Setting it aside and muting her music, she spun around on her stool to face the intruder with a displeased expression on her face.

“You nearly made me burn my hand, you _petite merde,_ ” she folded her arms across her chest at the smug expression on Jordan Trace’s face. “What is so important that you couldn’t wait until after I was finished on this component?”

“Six wants you to fill in Dom’s place on her detail for the summit in a week’s time.” Emmanuelle quirked an eyebrow at the Texan and his piece of news. There was a major counter-terrorism summit being held in Washington, and Rainbow’s director was attending the event as both a speaker and an attendee. Due to her position, she had requested five members of the unit to attend with her as her own security detail.

From what had been planned, it was originally going to be Mike, Eliza, Craig, Miles and Dominic. Meghan, Jordan and Gustave were going to come along as well, but as attendees on their own, wanting to visit and attend the conferences on the intelligence, tactical and medical aspects of counter-terrorism.

Emma allowed herself to smirk internally as she knew the _real_ reason why Jordan was going to attend. The man, as smart and intelligent as he was, wasn’t the kind to sit through endless presentations and opted to get hands-on with his way of learning. No, the real reason had to be because of Eliza. The two’s ‘secret’ relationship was as subtle as Seamus’ hammer, probably one of the worst kept secrets on the base.

“And why exactly can’t Dominic attend now?” She asked pointedly, and the smirk from Jordan’s face fell.

“His brother was seriously injured in an accident back in. He’s flying back right now to be with him and support his family.” Emma’s heart sunk out of worry for the man.

“ _Oh mon dieu,_ ” she said quietly, “he’s going to keep us updated, right?”

Jordan rubbed the back of his neck, “I think Monika said that she’s going to keep in contact with him. Information’s scarce though. Anyway, Six is heading up a couple of days early, something about meeting with a few old colleagues of hers prior to the summit’s start.”

“Ah. I guess I need to start packing then… what’s the dress code?”

* * *

For what was the tenth time that minute, Twitch’s eyes scanned over the small crowd that was gathered in the main conference hall, a mixture of clean suits, pressed uniforms, polo shirts, and typical business-slash-government attire. Members from different forces, agencies, and corporations from across the globe were in attendance for the weekend. Jordan had likened it to ‘ComicCon for Counter Terrorism’, and strangely enough she found herself agreeing with that statement.

It was strangely similar to some of the technical trade shows she’d attended in the past earlier on in her career, when she was first designing her RDS-1 shock drone. Booths and displays were set up in an organised manner with staff talking to visitors and alike, with halls equipped for presentations by keynote speakers on various topics. Six herself was scheduled to present soon, talking about the importance of international cooperation against a pervasive and worldwide threat.

There was no doubt that Rainbow was a key point in that presentation, given that there was no other reason for Six to attend outside of meeting the various leaders, commanders, and representatives of the units that the members of Rainbow were drafted from.

_“Isn’t it a little redundant to have a PSD for a summit where a vast majority of the attendees are military and law enforcement?”_ Blackbeard questioned over the closed communication network that the small team were wearing while on duty. Twitch rolled her eyes as his voice spoke through her earpiece, _“I mean, if someone’s going to attack a place like this, then they need balls of steel.”_

_“And tell me, Craig, just how many of these attendees are readily armed and prepared to defend against a threat,”_ Thatcher quietly answered back, Twitch looking back behind her at where the older gentleman was by Six’s side, their group walking along a row of booths, _“I’m sure a lot of these officials and officers have their own details wandering around. That and I’m sure you’ve noticed that the FBI have their own security elements on standby.”_

Twitch stole a glance at Ash, who was walking by her side, the pair of women acting as the point guard for their group. Thatcher and Six were in the centre, with Blackbeard and Castle forming the rear guard.

_“I’m glad I went to FBI SWAT, and not to the Secret Service,”_ Ash spoke up, _“I don’t think I can take another day in these clothes.”_ The five of them were dressed much like their counterparts in the Secret Service close protection service, with the men wearing dark suits with their sidearms holstered in their belts under their jackets; while Ash and Twitch wore dark slacks and blazers with light coloured blouses, and their own weapons holstered under their shoulders and out of sight. All of them wore covert plate carriers underneath their shirts and blouses, the bulk not immediately visible to the naked eye.

It was a far cry from the utilities and armoured vests they were all used to wearing, but far less comfortable. Despite the quality of the clothing, Twitch felt that her movement was restricted in the business attire. She had resolved herself to shed her jacket the moment a gunfight broke out, something she was sure that everyone else would adopt as well.

_“You’ll get used to it… we better start moving to hall three. Six’s talk is in twenty minutes, and the staff will want to get her prepared ahead of time.”_ Thatcher instructed, and both Ash and Twitch shared a glance before they started navigating their way through the crowd, leading their commanders toward the destination.

They passed by a small booth that was displaying some prototype compact reconnaissance drones, and for a split second she swore she saw a familiar face, but dismissed it as there was no time to stay back and confirm it.

* * *

Tony rolled his shoulders as he waited for the last few people to take their seats in the auditorium, eyes focused up to the raised stage as the lights dimmed around them. A short, black woman with a commanding presence took centre stage, a small microphone clipped to the collar of her suit jacket.

“Good day everyone. I’ll have to ask you all to give me for skipping the usual pleasantries and jumping straight to the point. We have all seen an unprecedented and extremely sharp increase in the number of terrorist acts carried out across multiple locations across many borders…” The woman spoke with a level tone, and Tony found himself slowly tuning her out as his eyes swept over the visible audience in front of him.

Internally, he started to predict some of the typical bureaucratic nonsense that most agency heads and high ranking officials tended to spout at events such as these: inter-agency cooperation, enduring campaign, hearts and minds. He’d heard it all before, and yet the talk never bore any real fruit. It never had, in his opinion, and never will.

“...which is why we need to start taking the fight back to the perpetrators. Hit them where it hurts the most, and not let them take the first shot. A shining example of this methodology would be the recent collapse of a criminal drug cartel in South America.” Tony’s ears pricked up at that statement: Operation Kingslayer was still highly classified, and this woman he’d never heard about or met before was about to share it like a child at show and tell? He leaned forward in his chair, careful to mask his face of any outward reaction or emotion.

“The exact cause of the collapse is unknown, and I’d be confident to say that it will never be known, but by looking at _how_ they collapsed is enough to infer that it was influenced by external sources that had the time and resources to enact such a campaign. The first peg to fall was Santa Blanca’s security forces, followed by their influencers, their production chain and lastly their distribution networks. The leaders of each of those divisions either were found killed in firefights or had seemingly vanished without a trace. With his lieutenants gone, the head of the organisation disappeared, and his empire crumbled. To this day Bolivia is rebuilding itself away from the cartel’s image and influence, and the quality of life for the nation’s residents is already far superior to how it was beforehand.” The woman paused and let the audience take in the information.

Tony was impressed, whoever this woman was had nailed the method the Ghosts had taken to absolutely destroy Santa Blanca, even if the finer details had been missed or omitted. “One can learn lessons from this approach, given the right intelligence and resources, and apply it to take down other large entities that pose a distinct threat to international security. It is why…” Tony tuned her out once more as his eyes swept the crowd again, this time also flicking up to the stage to see if he could pick out members of this woman’s security team.

Sure enough, he noticed a pair of men standing off to one side, arms folded across their fronts and weapons presumably hidden under jackets. A second pair stood opposite them on the other side of the stage, a pair of women-

Wait.

He recognised that face, even with her hair pulled up and back in a professional-looking bun. He maintained his focus on her as her own eyes swept out across the crowd, seemingly locking with his even if his face was blocked out by the bright stage lighting and the shadow cast over the audience.

Strangely, he felt his chest warm at the sight of a familiar and friendly face.

He’d have to find a way to catch up with Twitch before the end of the summit. 

* * *

Emmanuelle, Craig, and Miles all sat around a table in the hotel bistro, dressed in far more comfortable yet still presentable clothing than the suits that were mandated for wear while ‘on duty’. Six had retired in her room for the night, and Mike was missing as he’d taken the time to reconnect with a few old friends from the SAS that were visiting the summit at the same time.

Curiously, though unsurprisngly, Eliza was also missing. She’d been snatched away by a certain Texan before she had the chance to get out of her own attire after the team was dismissed by Six. Meghan and Gustave were due to join them in a few minutes time however, the two other Rainbow attendees having nothing else to do that night.

“I’m not the only one that felt like she was rubbing us in the faces of everyone else?” Craig asked after sipping from his rum and coke, “I mean, you heard her out there.”

Emma sighed, silently agreeing with the American’s statement. While it wasn’t completely overt, there was a tone of mild superiority that Six had adopted during her presentation, especially when touching on topics of international cooperation.

“Hey, what we’ve got is working, right?” Miles questioned with a small shrug, “It makes sense to point that out. The number of plots that have been interrupted and or thwarted since RAINBOW’s reestablishment have risen, while attacks are falling towards an all-time low.”

“Would’ve been nice for her to tell us that we’re shifting our operational focus _before_ telling the rest of the world.” Craig pointed out with a frown.

That was a bombshell that none of them had been prepared for, but now made sense considering what had been happening in the lead up to the summit. The exercises and training courses in the jungle and desert, reorganisation of operators and their coverage areas, new equipment and improved resources; it was all in preparation for this.

As much of a shock as it was, Emma personally didn’t find herself upset by the change. For once, she felt a little excited to finally go on the hunt and take out a threat before it rose. A few of the raids she’d been on back in the GIGN were of the ‘pre-emptive strike’ sort, namely aimed at organised crime and other high risk offenders that had made their plans known before they struck. And it was a rewarding feeling, knowing that an almost certain tragedy had been averted.

Now they were going to do it in RAINBOW, and the effects would be much further reaching than a city or township in France. They would be global.

“Hey, Emma, you want another round?” Craig’s question drew her from her musings, and she stole a glance at the nearly empty glass of wine that stood in front of her. The trio had shared a round of drinks and an entree while waiting for Meghan and Gustave to arrive.

“I could go for another… I’ll get them though, need to stretch my legs.” She offered, standing up from the table as she confirmed the two men’s drink order before making her way over to the bar counter off to the side of the bistro. As she walked away, she heard Miles raise his voice to greet their two fellow operators as they arrived. She rolled her eyes at the timing, committed to retrieving the next round of drinks. If Meg and Gustave wanted their own, they could get them themselves.

Taking a seat at the stool, she waited for the bartender to come down to serve her. Sitting patiently, she took a few cursory glances at each side to see who was around, eyebrows rising at a familiar face down the end. Emma slipped from the stool and quietly approached, taking a seat by the man’s side. “You know, I’m beginning to think that I may be haunted.”

“And why is that?” The man turned to look at her with a knowing smirk, recognition glinting behind his eyes.

“Because I keep seeing a Ghost follow me wherever I go.” Emmanuel matched his smirk with one of hers, growing into a smile as Nomad started to chuckle quietly.

“Well, I’m off the clock, otherwise you’d be Twitching in fear,” Nomad returned with an easy smile, sipping from his drink.


End file.
